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SIR WALTER SCOTT 
(After the portrait by Raeburn) 



£ongmans’ Qtnglisl) Classics 


SCOTT’S 


I YANHOE 


EDITED 

WITH NOTES AND AN INTRODUCTION 


BY 

BLISS PERRY, A.M. 

PROFESSOR OF ORATORY AND ^ESTHETIC CRITICISM IN PRINCETON 

UNIVERSITY 



NEW YORK 

LONGMANS, GREEN, AND 



CO. 


LONDON AND BOMBAY 


1897 


f 3 Z-3 


COPYRIGHT, 1897 
BY 

LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO. 

All rights reserved 



Press of J. J. Little & Co. 
Astor Place, New York 


PREFACE 


The text of “ Ivanhoe ” here given is a reprint of the 
so-called 1829 edition, the “ opns magnum ” to which 
Scott’s “ Journal ” frequently refers, and which was about 
three years in passing through the press. It contains the 
author’s latest corrections. As regards punctuation — a 
point in which Scott’s manuscripts were notably careless 
— a few changes have been made, and some obvious slips 
of the pen have been pointed out in the foot-notes, though 
allowed to stand unaltered in the text. The frequent 
biblical allusions in “ Ivanhoe ” will account, in part, for 
the number of the notes. Scott’s Preface to the original 
edition, and his “ Introduction to Ivanhoe,” dated Septem- 
ber 1, 1830, for the final edition, are printed in the Appen- 
dix. In the Introduction, the Editor has taken the liberty 
of incorporating a single paragraph from his Introduction 
to “ Woodstock,” in this series. The Chronological Table 
gives the important dates in the life of Scott, and a com- 
plete list of his works. It is hoped that every teacher 
using this edition will send his pupils directly to one of the 
lives of Scott mentioned in the Bibliography, and above all 
to Lockhart. 

B. P. 


Princeton University, April , 1897. 



* 



















CONTENTS 


PAGE 

Editor’s Introduction ix 

Suggestions for Teachers xxii 

Table of English Kings xxiv 

Chronological Table xxv 

Chapter I 3 

Chapter II 15 

Chapter III . 30 

Chapter IV 39 

Chapter V 48 

Chapter VI 59 

Chapter VII 74 

Chapter VIII 89 

Chapter IX 102 

Chapter X 113 

Chapter XI 125 

Chapter XII . 134 

Chapter XIII .147 

Chapter XIV 158 

Chapter XV 168 

Chapter XVI 175 

Chapter XVII 189 

Chapter XVIII . 195 

Chapter XIX 204 

Chapter XX 212 


CONTENTS 


viii 

Chapter XXI . 

Chapter XXII 
Chapter XXIII 
Chapter XXIV 
Chapter XX Y 
Chapter XXVI 
Chapter XXVII 
Chapter XXVIII . 
Chapter XXIX 
Chapter XXX 
Chapter XXXI 
Chapter XXXTI 
Chapter XXXIII . 
Chapter XXXIV . 
Chapter XXXV 
Chapter XXXVI . 
Chapter XXXVII . 
Chapter XXXVIII . 
Chapter XXXIX 
Chapter XL 
Chapter XLI . 

Chapter XLII . 

Chapter XLIII 
Chapter XLIV 

Appendix : 

Author’s Preface 
Author’s Introduction 
Author’s Notes . 


PAGE 

220 

230 

240 

249 

262 

271 

279 

299 

314 

326 

336 

352 

368 

383 

394 

409 

419 

433 

443 

456 

475 

485 

500 

514 

527 

535 

543 


EDITOR’S INTRODUCTION 


I 

The story of Scott’s life has been told so ofte - 
well that a glance at its salient features will be suliicient 
for the reader of “ Ivanhoe.” He was born in Edinburgh 
in 1771, the son of a respectable attorney. An early ill- 
ness left him a cripple, and for a while his life was 
despaired of. He was sent to his grandfather’s at Sandy 
Knowe, where an outdoor life gradually brought back his 
strength, so that he became a sturdy little fellow, devoted, 
in spite of his lameness, to boyish sports and long rambles 
over the hills. But he was a passionate reader, too, and 
devoured every book within his reach. At the Edinburgh 
High School, in his own words, he “ glanced like a meteor 
from one end of the class to the other,” and won more 
applause as a story-teller than as a scholar. At fifteen he 
began the study of law, under his father’s guidance, and in 
1792 was called to the bar. His career as a Jawver was 
scarcely brilliant, but in 1797 he married, and an appoint- 
ment as Sheriff-Depute of Selkirkshire gave him assurance 
of an income. He had already gained some literary repu- 
tation by translations from the German, and in 1802 he 
published a collection of ballads, including some of his 
own composition, entitled “ The Minstrelsy of the Scottish 
Border.” In 1805 he established his fame as a poet by 
“ The Lay of the Last Minstrel,” which was soon followed 
by “ Marmion,” “ The Lady of the Lake,” and other nar- 
rative poems. They pleased the ear of the public at once, 
and brought large sums of money to the author. Ap- 
pointed one of the Clerks of Session in 1806, by 1812 Scott 
was able to remove from Ashestiel, which had been for 
some years his home, and to purchase the great estate of 
Abbotsford. 


X 


EDITOR'S INTRODUCTION 


In the summer of 1814 his genius took a new bent. 
Byron had become famous, and Scott’s poetry had begun 
to lose vogue. His expenses at Abbotsford were enormous, 
and a silent partnership in the Edinburgh publishing 
bouse of James Ballantyne and Co., formed in 1805, threat- 
ened him with financial embarrassment. Fortunately for 
and for the world, he turned novel-writer. Dashing 
little more than three weeks, a prose tale — the con- 
01 of a story begun long before and laid aside — he 
it anonymously under the title of “ Waver ley.” 
lediate and extraordinary popularity of this hook 
Scott from the fear of financial ruin. More than 
tins, it revealed to him the almost inexhaustible store of 
material for fiction which he had been laying up from 
boyhood: legend, history, family memoirs, court chron- 
icles, country-side gossip, and shrewd, kindly observation 
of all sorts and conditions of men. Guarding strictly the 
secret of his authorship, and devoting to composition those 
hours only which he could spare from his official labours 
and his duties as head and host of the great establishment 
at Abbotsford, he poured forth volume after volume of the 
Waverley series. “ They were faster written and better 
paid for than any other books in the world,” says Carlyle, 
who writes bitterly of “ Scott’s career of writing impromptu 
novels to buy farms with.” By the close of 1825 he had 
written twenty-one novels, besides doing much miscel- 
laneous literary work; he had added a great many farms 
to his estate, had been knighted by George IV, and had 
apparently realized his ambition to become the founder of 
a race of Scottish lairds. 

But in the autumn of that year the tide turned. The 
secret partnership with the Ballantynes still continued, 
and a panic at London, involving Scott’s own publisher, 
Constable, ruined the firm of Ballantyne and Co. Sir 
Walter, as a partner, was held responsible for about £130,- 
000. He set to work instantly to earn this enormous sum 
with his pen, and the story of his struggle is one of the 
most thrilling and tragic in literary history. In five years 
he succeeded in paying more than half of his indebtedness, 
and his copyrights enabled his representatives ultimately 
to pay every creditor in full. But Scott himself succumbed 
under the terrible strain. He sailed for Naples in 1831, a 


EDITOR'S INTRODUCTION 


xi 


broken man, and came back to his old home in Abbotsford 
only to die, in September, 1832. 


II 

“ Ivanhoe ” was the tenth of the Waverley novels. It 
was published in December, 1819, though the volumes bore 
the date of 1820. Nearly six years had elapsed since the 
publication of “ Waverley,” and the interest of the public 
had mounted steadily as volume after volume of the series 
had appeared. The identity of the author was still un- 
known, except to a very few; indeed, it was not until Feb- 
ruary, 1827, that Scott made public acknowledgment of his 
authorship. The nine tales that preceded “ Ivanhoe ” had 
dealt with Scottish material exclusively, and with a period 
never. more than two or three generations removed from 
the present; and it was partly the dread of wearying his 
readers by recurring too often to the same theme, and partly 
the natural desire of the artist to exercise himself in a new 
field, that led Scott to shift the scene of his new romance 
to England, and to place its action as far back as the 
twelfth century. To aid this effect of novelty, it was at 
first proposed that the work should not even be announced 
as by the author of “ Waverley,” though this plan was 
given up shortly before the book made its appearance. 

Scott was well aware of the risk which a writer runs in 
abandoning a field where his success has been indubitable, 
for one beset with difficulties of a new kind. In the 
“ Dedicatory Epistle to the Rev. Dr. Dryasdust,” signed 
by “ Laurence Templeton,” which serves as Preface to the 
first edition, as well as in the final Introduction written in 
1830, he considers carefully the nature of the questions 
which a historical novelist must face. The “ Epistle ” 
comments upon the scantiness of material for portraying 
the private life of our ancestors, centuries ago; it confesses 
that “ Ivanhoe ” does not pretend to “ complete accuracy, 
even in matters of outward costume, much less in the more 
important points of language and manners.” Antiquarian 
erudition, it urges, must in some cases give way to the fair 
license allowed to the author of a fictitious composition. 
It insists, however, that “ the passions ” are the same in 


Xll 


EDITOR'S INTRODUCTION 


all ranks and conditions, in all ages and countries, and 
that opinions and actions, in consequence, must upon the 
whole bear a strong resemblance to each other. These 
remarks of “ Laurence Templeton ” on the theory of his- 
torical fiction are nowadays regarded as truisms, but that 
is largely because Scott’s own achievements in creative 
literature have proved their truth. The Introduction of 
1830 is still more interesting in its discussion of some of 
the sources of the romance, and it is apparently in refer- 
ence to the contemporary criticisms upon the main an- 
achronism of “ Ivanhoe ” that the author admits that “ it 
was obvious that history was violated by introducing the 
Saxons still existing as a high-minded and martial race of 
nobles ” in 1194. 

The frankness of Scott’s comments upon his own work 
gives his Introductions to the definitive edition of the nov- 
els an enduring charm; but frank as he is, he omits to 
touch upon the one element which in “ Ivanhoe,” at least, 
changed the risks into certainties of triumph, and made 
the conquest of artistic difficulties a delight. He is as 
unconscious of his genius, apparently, as if he had none. 
The “ experiment on a subject purely English,” as he 
modestly terms “ Ivanhoe,” does not seem so much of an 
experiment, after all, when we remind ourselves — for Scott 
himself will never remind us — that it was written, in the 
fulness of his yet un wasted powers, by one of the greatest 
story-tellers of the world. If he could make a masterpiece 
of fiction out of the material offered by eighteenth-century 
Scotland, surely the transition to northern England, even 
in a time six centuries earlier than his own, ought not to 
offer any insuperable obstacles. Scott’s training as a 
romance-writer began with those “ interminable tales of 
knight-errantry and battles and enchantments ” which he 
and his boy friend John Irving used to tell each other in 
their long holiday rambles around Edinburgh, and at 
forty-eight his imagination still moved as freely in the 
mediaeval world as in the Scotland of his boyhood. A 
glance at the <( Catalogue of the Library at Abbotsford ” 
(Edinburgh, 1838), or at the author’s notes and appendices 
to his novels, will show Scott’s wide reading in English 
history, and the accuracy of his general information with 
regard to any particular period. No detail furnished by the 


EDITOR'S INTRODUCTION 


mi 


contemporary chroniclers of Bichard the First’s reign, for 
instance, seems to have escaped his notice, and his marvel- 
lous memory treasured every fragment of the Bobin 
Hood ballads that had been collected in his day. When 
he confuses the events and manners of the twelfth century 
with those of the centuries immediately proceding or fol- 
lowing, it is because he thought he could better his story 
by so doing, or through the superb carelessness of genius, 
and not because he was uninformed. Students of “ Ivan- 
lioe ” will naturally examine as closely as possible the 
sources from which Scott drew; hut something more than 
knowledge of history and acquaintance with legend went 
to the making of his immortal romance. Mr. C. Vaughan, 
in commenting recently upon the materials used in “ The 
Duchess of Malfi,” says of the dramatist Webster what is 
equally true of Scott: “It is the old story. The c source ’ 
of a work of genius commonly counts for little or nothing; 
and the study of it is only of value for the sake of showing 
what is not in it. ‘ Je prends mon bien ou je le trouve,’ 
said Moliere. c I take it where I do not find it/ would be 
the most accurate translation.” 


Ill 

Lockhart’s “Life of Scott” gives many interesting de- 
tails concerning the composition of the story. Like 
“Woodstock,” it was written in a time of sore physical 
and mental trial. In the spring of 1819 Scott suffered 
from a recurrence of his old malady of cramp in the 
stomach, which had given his friends great anxiety two 
years before. He could not be persuaded to stop working, 
though he was forced, for the first time, to dictate, instead 
of using a pen. 

“ I have now before me a letter of the 8th April, in which Scott 
says to Constable — ‘ Yesterday I began to dictate, and did it easily 
and with comfort. This is a great point — but I must proceed by 
little and little; last night I had a slight return of the enemy— but 
baffled him — and he again writes to the bookseller on the. 11th — 
‘John Ballantyne is here, and returns with copy, which my increas- 
ing strength permits me to hope I may now furnish regularly.’ 

“ The copy (as MS. for the press is technically called) which Scott 
was then dictating, was that of the ‘Bride of Lammermoor,’ and 


X1Y 


EDITOR'S INTRODUCTION 


his amanuenses were William Laidlaw and John Ballantyne; — of 
whom he preferred the latter, when he could be at Abbotsford, on 
account of the superior rapidity of his pen; and also because John 
kept his pen to the paper without interruption, and, though with 
many an arch twinkle in his eyes, and now and then an audible 
smack of his lips, had resolution to work on like a well-trained clerk; 
whereas good Laidlaw entered with such keen zest into the interest 
of the story as it flowed from the author’s lips, that he could not 
suppress exclamations of surprise and delight — ‘ Gude keep us a’! — 
the like o’ that! — eh sirs! eh sirs! ’ — and so forth — which did not pro- 
mote despatch. I have often, however, in the sequel, heard both 
these secretaries describe the astonishment with which they were 
equally affected when Scott began this experiment. The affectionate 
Laidlaw beseeching him to stop dictating, when his audible suffering 
filled every pause, ‘ Nay, Willie,’ he answered, ‘ only see that the 
doors are fast. I would fain keep all the cry as well as all the wool 
to ourselves ; but as to giving over work, that can only be when I am 
in woollen.’ John Ballantyne told me, that after the first day he 
always took care to have a dozen of pens made before he seated him- 
self opposite to the sofa on which Scott lay, and that though he often 
turned himself on his pillow with a groan of torment, he usually con- 
tinued the sentence in the same breath. But when dialogue of pecu- 
liar animation was in progress, spirit seemed to triumph altogether 
over matter — he arose from his couch and walked up and down the 
room, raising and lowering his voice, and as it were acting the parts. 
It was in this fashion that Scott produced the far greater portion 
of ‘ The Bride of Lammermoor ’ — the whole of ‘ The Legend of 
Montrose ’ — and almost the whole of ‘ Ivanhoe.’ ” * 

It is well known that after Scott’s recovery, when his 
friends read him the work he had dictated during his ill- 
ness, he found that it was as new to him as if it had been 
written by another novelist. Of “ The Bride of Lammer- 
moor ” in particular, he confessed that “ he did not recol- 
lect one single incident, character, or conversation it 
contained.” Though he forgot the splendid creations of 
his “ other self ” that came into being during those months 
of pain, he never forgot the physical suffering which he 
then endured. His references to it afterward are singu- 
lar^ characteristic. “ If pain could have prevented my 
application,” he said to Gillies, “ not a word of ‘ Ivanhoe 9 
would have been written.” The same stubborn courage 
is revealed in a mention of “ Ivanhoe ” to his friend Mor- 
ritt, while writing him about the troubles and interrup- 
tions that beset him during the composition of “ Wood- 
stock ” in 1826: “ This is nothing, however, to writing 
‘ Ivanhoe ’ when I had the actual cramp in my stomach; 

* Lockhart’s Life of Scott, v, 216. 


EDITOR'S INTRODUCTION 


xv 


but I have no idea of these things preventing a man from 
doing what he has a mind.” There is a passage to much 
the same effect in Scott’s “ Journal ” for Oct. 31, 1826, 
written after witnessing a representation of “ Ivanhoe ” 
in Paris. 

“In the evening at the Odeon, where we saw ‘Ivanhoe.’ It was 
superbly got up, the Norman soldiers wearing pointed helmets and 
what resembled much hauberks of mail, which looked very well. The 
number of the attendants, and the skill with which they were moved 
and grouped on the stage, were well worthy of notice. It was an 
opera, and of course the story greatly mangled, and the dialogue in a 
great part nonsense. Yet it was strange to hear anything like the 
words which I (then in an agony of pain with spasms in my stomach) 
dictated to William Laidlaw at Abbotsford, now recited in a foreign 
tongue, and for the amusement of a strange people. I little thought 
to have survived the completing of this novel.” 


Towards the close of 1819 Scott’s health was somewhat 
restored, but then began a series of family bereavements, 
following closely upon one another. He refers to them 
in this letter to Lady Louisa Stewart, an old friend, very 
shortly after the appearance of “ Ivanhoe ” : 

“ Dear Lady Louisa, — I am favoured with your letter from Ditton, 
and am glad you found anything to entertain you in ‘ Ivanhoe.’ * 
Novelty is what this giddy-paced time demands imperiously, and I 
certainly studied as much as I could to get out of the old beaten 
track, leaving those who like to keep the road, which I have rutted 
pretty well. I have had a terrible time of it this year, with the loss 
of dear friends and near relations; it is almost fearful to count up 
my losses, as they make me bankrupt in society. My brother-in-law; 
our never-to-be-enough regretted Duke; Lord Chief Baron, my early, 
kind, and constant friend, who took me up when I was a young 
fellow of little mark or likelihood; the wife of my intimate friend 
William Erskine; the only son of my friend David Hume, a youth of 
great promise, and just entering into life, who had grown up under 
my eye from childhood; my excellent mother; and, within a few 
days, her surviving brother and sister. My mother was the only one 
of these whose death was the natural consequence of very advanced 
life. And our sorrows are not at an end. ... I should apolo- 
gize, I believe, for troubling your ladyship with these melancholy 
details; but you would not thank me fora letter written with con- 
straint, and my mind is at present very full of this sad subject, 
though I scarce know any one to whom I would venture to say so 
much.” 

* Lady Stewart’s letter is printed in Familiar Letters of Sir Walter 
Scott (Houghton, Mifflin, 1894), Yol. ii, p. 72. 


XVI 


EDITOR'S INTRODUCTION 


Lockhart makes this comment upon Scott’s letters dur- 
ing the close of that year: 

“If literary success could have either filled Scott’s head or hard- 
ened his heart, we should have no such letters as those of December, 
1819. ‘ Ivanhoe ’• was received throughout England with a more 

clamorous delight than any of the Scotch novels had been. The vol- 
umes (three in number) were now, for the first time, of the post 8vo 
form, with a finer paper than hitherto, the press-work much more 
elegant, and the price accordingly raised from eight shillings the vol- 
ume to ten ; yet the copies sold in this original shape were twelve 
thousand.” 

Lockhart then quotes the fine passage at the close of 
the Author’s Introduction concerning the fate allotted to 
Rebecca, and adds this remark with regard to the origin of 
the character: 

“ The introduction of the charming Jewess and her father originated, 
I find, in a conversation that Scott held with his friend Skene during 
the severest season of his bodily sufferings in the early part of this 
year. ‘Mr. Skene,’ says that gentleman’s wife, ‘sitting by his bed- 
side, and trying to amuse him as well as he could in the intervals of 
pain, happened to get on the subject of the Jews, as he had observed 
them when he spent some time in Germany in his youth. Their situ- 
ation had naturally made a strong impression ; for in those days they 
retained their own dress and manners entire, and were treated with 
considerable austerity by their Christian neighbours, being still locked 
up at night in their own quarter by great gates ; and Mr. Skene, 
partly in seriousness, but partly from the mere wish to turn his mind 
at the moment upon something that might occupy and divert it, sug- 
gested that a group of Jews would be an interesting feature if he could 
contrive to bring them into his next novel.’ Upon the appearance of 
‘ Ivanhoe/ he reminded Mr. Skene of this conversation, and said : 
‘ You will find this book owes not a little to your German reminis- 
cences.’ ” 

In this connection, it is interesting to compare an article 
on “ The Original of Rebecca in Ivanhoe ” which appeared 
in the Century Magazine for September, 1882 (Mew Series, 
Yol. ii). Its author states very positively that the orig- 
inal of Rebecca was an American Jewess, Miss Rebecca 
Gratz of Philadelphia. She was a friend, it seems, of 
Washington Irving, who told Scott about her during his 
visit to Abbotsford in 1817. Scott was deeply impressed 
by her beauty, both of person and character. When 
“ Ivanhoe ” appeared, he immediately sent the first copy 
to Irving. In the letter accompanying it he asked: “ How 


EDITOR'S INTRODUCTION 


XYll 


do you like your Rebecca? Does the Rebecca I have 
pictured compare well with the pattern given ? ” The 
letter thus quoted is not otherwise printed in the article, 
and is not to be found, as far as the present Editor is aware, 
in any collection of Scott’s letters. The whole question of 
the indebtedness of a novelist to some specific experience 
or incident which seems to have stimulated his imagina- 
tion is one that requires much caution on the part of the 
critic. The novelist himself can scarcely say, in the 
majority of cases, how much or how little his imagination 
has done for him, in reconstructing the material furnished 
by actual fact. Other persons are much more likely to be 
wrong than right. George Eliot, who suffered as much as 
any of the craft from people who tried to “ identify ” scenes 
and characters in her novels, says very shrewdly: “ It is 
invariably the case that when people discover certain points 
of coincidence in a fiction with facts that happen to have 
come within their knowledge, they believe themselves able 
to furnish a key to the whole. That is amusing enough 
to the author, who knows from what widely sundered por- 
tions of experience, — from what a combination of subtle, 
shadowy suggestions, with certain actual objects and events, 
his story has been formed.” 

Lockhart brings his comments upon the book to a close 
with this paragraph: 


“ I cannot conclude this chapter without observing that the publi- 
cation of ‘ Ivanhoe ’ marks the most brilliant epoch in Scott’s history 
as the literary favourite of his contemporaries. With the novel which 
he next put forth, the immediate sale of these works began gradually 
to decline ; and though, even when that had reached its lowest de- 
clension, it was still far above the most ambitious dreams of any other 
novelist, yet the publishers were afraid the announcement of any- 
thing like a falling-olf might cast a damp over the spirits of the 
author. He was allowed to remain, for several years, under the im- 
pression that whatever novel he threw off commanded at once the 
old triumphant sale of ten or twelve thousand, and was afterwards, 
when included in the collective edition, to be circulated in that shape 
also as widely as ‘ Waverley ’ or ‘ Ivanhoe.’ In my opinion, it would 
have been very unwise in the booksellers to give Scott any unfavour- 
able tidings upon such subjects after the commencement of the m^Jady 
which proved fatal to him'— for that from the first shook his mind ; 
but I think they took a false measure of the man when they hesitated 
to tell him exactly how the matter stood, throughout 1820 and the 
three or four following years, when his intellect was as vigorous as it 
ever had been, and his heart as courageous ; and I regret their 


XV111 


EDITOR'S INTRODUCTION 


scruples (among other reasons), because the years now mentioned 
were the most costly ones in his life ; and for every twelve months in 
which any man allows himself, or is encouraged by others, to proceed 
in a course of unwise expenditure, it becomes proportionably more 
difficult for him to pull up when the mistake is at length detected or 
recognized.” 


IV 

The admiration shown for “ Ivanhoe ” by the reading 
public was echoed in the great reviews. The Blackwood 
article (December, 1819) was written in “ Christopher 
North’s ” most exuberant style, and is mainly occupied 
with extracts from the tale. The Quarterly (October, 
1821), in an admirable review of all the Waverley novels 
produced between 1818 and 1821, devotes much space to 
“ the splendid masque, ‘ Ivanhoe.’ ” It censures certain 
defects in the characterization of some of the leading 
personages, and criticises some of the details of the tourna- 
ment scene, but does ample justice to the real power of the 
story. The Edinburgh Review (January, 1820) makes 
“ Ivanhoe ” the subject of its leading article, of more than 
fifty pages, presumably written by Jeffrey. “ The great 
difficulty the author had to contend with ” is stated with 
such acumen and justice that no student of “ Ivanhoe ” 
should overlook the article. Its final characterization of 
the romance in relation to Scott’s previous work as a novel- 
ist is as follows: 

“There could in fact have been no such state of society as that of 
which the story before us professes to give but samples and ordinary 
results. In a country beset with such worthies as Front-de-Boeuf, 
Malvoisin, and the rest, Isaac the Jew could neither have grown 11011,’ 
nor lived to old age; and no Rebecca could either have acquired her 
delicacy, or preserved her honour. Neither could a plump Prior 
Aymer have followed venery in woods swarming with the merry men 
of Robin flood. — Rot.herwood must have been burned to the ground 
two or three times every year — and all the knights and thanes of the 
land been killed off nearly as often. — The thing, in short, wl: 
calmly considered, cannot be imagined to be a reality; and, af 
gazing for a while on the splendid pageant which it presents, a 
admiring the exaggerated beings who counterfeit, in their gra 
style, the passions and feelings of our poor human nature, we sc 
find that we must turn again to our Waverlevs and Antiquaries a 
Old Mortalities, and become acquainted with our neighbours a 
ourselves, and our duties and dangers and true felicities, in the 
quisite pictures which our author there exhibits of the follies we da 


EDITOR'S INTRODUCTION 


XlX 


witness or display, and of the prejudices, habits, and affections, by 
which we are hourly obstructed, governed, or cheered.”* 


Exact historians of the twelfth century continue to this 
day to discover flaws in the historical assumptions of the 
tale, quite unmindful that the author confessed the most 
serious of them during his own lifetime. There was in 
truth no “ good cause of old England ” f for which Saxons 
were fighting in 1194, and Mr. Freeman in particular has 
found it hard to forgive Scott for making believe that there 
was one. 

“One of the chief errors which an historian of the twelfth century 
has to strive against is the notion that, for many generations, perhaps 
for centuries, after the Norman Conquest, there was a broadly marked 
line, recognized on both sides, between ‘Normans’ and ‘Saxons.’ 

. . . Now I trust that no one who has followed me thus far needs 

to be told that no Englishman in the twelfth century called himself 
a Saxon, or was called a Saxon by anybody except a Scot or a Briton. 
The Englishman called himself an Englishman then, as he did ages 
before and as he does still. And, long before the twelfth century 
was out, the man of Norman descent born on English soil had learned 
to call himself an Englishman also. The notion of which I speak, 
the notion which finds its fullest development in Scott’s romance of 
‘ Ivanhoe ’ and in the work of Thierry \ to which that romance gave 
birth, has nothing to justify it in the language of the time. . . . 

In them [contemporary writers] we may look in vain for any sign of 
that long-abiding hatred between Normans and ‘ Saxons ’ of which 
Thierry has, after his master Scott, given us so eloquent a picture. 
When we believe that the keep of Coningsburgh Castle is older than 
the Norman Conquest — when we believe that Englishwomen, whether 
of the fifth or of the twelfth century, bore the names of Rowena and 
Ulrica — when we believe that the Christian English folk of the 
twelfth century prayed to the Slavonic idol Czernibog, or swore by 
the soul of the heathen Hengest — when we believe that there w r as a 
time when Normans and English differed about the time of keeping 
Easter — when we believe that there were lineal descendants of Edward 
the Confessor — when we believe that the son of a man who had fought 
at Stamford-bridge was alive, and seemingly not very old, when Rich- 
ard the First came back from Germany — then we may believe in the 
state of things set forth in the History, and of which the Cedric 
(Cerdic?) of the romance is the popular embodiment. Thierry says 
at the end of his work that there are no longer either Normans or 
Saxons except in history (‘il n’y a plus de Normands ni de Saxons 
que dans l’histoire ’). I am thankful to say, from some knowledge of 

* Edinburgh Review , xxiii, p. 53. 

f See Chapter xl. 

% Thierry’s Norman Conquest. His indebtedness to Scott is ac- 
knowledged in a most interesting passage of his preface to Dix Ans 
d’ Etudes Historiques. 


XX 


EDITOR'S INTRODUCTION 


both, that neither the Norman nor the Saxon stock has been cut off 
on their several sides of the sea. But, in Thierry’s sense of the words, 
it would be truer to say that there never were ‘ Normans ’ or ‘ Saxons ’ 
anywhere, save in the pages of romances like his own.”* 


y 

It is idle to suppose that, in writing “ Ivanhoe,” Scott 
did not know what he was about. “ It is a tale of chivalry 
and not of character,” he wrote to his friend Terry the 
playwright, and for the construction of a tale of chivalry 
Scott’s natural instinct was a sufficient guide. “ What is 
the use of having a plot?” he was wont to ask smilingly; 
“ you cannot keep to it.” He usually took “ the pleasant- 
est road towards the end of a story,” secure in his ability 
to push through somehow and please everybody who trav- 
elled in his company. An intuition for what will give 
pleasure to one’s readers is no inadequate equipment for 
story-telling, and Scott’s instinct in this respect was un- 
erring. Buskin’s petulant criticism upon “ Ivanhoe,” to 
the effect that “the impossible archeries and axe-strokes, 
the incredibly opportune appearances of Locksley, the 
death of Ulrica, and the resuscitation of Athelstane, are 
partly boyish, partly feverish,” was penned, as Mr. Lang 
has suggested, by a man who never was a hoy. There are 
of course plenty of minor details in the story, as regards 
characters and incidents and background, about which 
readers may properly differ. The Suggestions printed at 
the close of nearly every chapter in the present edition 
point out some of these details, just as the foot-notes now 
and then call attention to an anachronism; but a book 
must be judged by its total appeal to the mind, not by its 
isolated excellences and defects. Tested by the real quali- 
ties that go to the making of historical romance, — the 
magic by which it evokes the past; the skill with which 
legend and history are used to create a poetic atmosphere; 
the steady growth in power, through changes of scene, 
varying emphasis upon different characters, transitions 
from tragedy to comedy and from action to intrigue; the 
masterly delineation of nationalities and professions and 

* Freeman’s Norman Conquest , Yol. v, p. 551-561. 


EDITOR'S INTRODUCTION 


xxi 


representatives of every order and rafik; above all, its fun- 
damental rightness, the expression of a nature sound and 
sweet, sane and wise, — tested by these qualities, “ Ivanhoe ” 
deserves its fame as one of the great romances of the world. 

Scott’s faults need not be elaborated here. He was dif- 
fuse and careless in style, often reckless in constructing 
his plots, and he could not portray certain types of mind 
and certain emotional experiences which are intimately 
connected with the progress of the race. He had no “ pas- 
sion of intellectual inquiry ” ; * “ he was not in the dis- 
tinctive sense of the term a thinker.” f His philosophy 
of life was of the comfortable worldly sort; and as he fails 
in intellectual passion, so he often fails in spiritual depth. 
But after these admissions are frankly made, how much 
there is left to admire and to love! This is not the place 
to dwell upon Scott’s immense significance in the history 
of English and continental fiction, nor upon the mass and 
total excellence of his work. It is enough to say that his 
novels bring us into touch with a glorious man, kindly, 
loving, and brave; a man with strong sense and keen sagac- 
ity and a wide horizon; healthy to the core; with genuine 
enthusiasms, boyish spirits, and an honest relish of the 
good things of the sunshiny world; a man sweet-tempered 
in trial, stout-hearted in disaster, and with such an infec- 
tious good-fellowship about him from first to last that to 
know Scott’s novels means to love Sir Walter himself. And 
for three generations, already, one of the surest ways to 
love Scott has been to read “ Ivanhoe.” 


* Bagehot. 


f Masson. 


SUGGESTIONS FOR TEACHERS 


Very few of the pupils who are asked to read “Ivanhoe” 
as a part of their training in English will find it anything 
but a pleasure, and with this normal pleasure in reading a 
good story the teacher should interfere as little as possible. 
It is with the aim of making the pupil’s delight in “ Ivan- 
hoe ” a more intelligent one that the Suggestions for 
Students have been appended to most of the chapters. 
They contain hints for collateral reading and simple ques- 
tions upon the art of fiction, and are frequently designed 
to illustrate Scott’s methods in other tales. They are not 
intended, however, to weigh upon the conscience of either 
teacher or student. The class should of course have access 
to some complete edition of the Waverley novels, and 
should be encouraged to make comparisons between 
“ Ivanhoe ” and other historical romances at every feasible 
point. Scott’s “ Talisman ” and “ The Betrothed ” deal 
with the same period as “ Ivanhoe.” Bulwer’s “ Harold ” 
and Charles Kingsley’s “ Here ward the Wake,” though 
laid in the century preceding, are full of interesting points 
of comparison with Scott’s famous romance. Thackeray’s 
burlesque continuation of it, “ Rebecca and Rowena,” 
should not be forgotten. 

History of the Period. — Kate Norgate’s “ England under 
the Angevin Kings ” (Macmillan, 2 vols.) affords the best 
picture of the reign of Richard I. If this is not accessible 
to the teacher, passages from J. R. Green’s “ Short History 
of the English People ” may with advantage be read before 
the class. Addison’s “ Knights Templars ” gives some in- 
teresting details about the Templar Order, but its state- 
ments should lie compared with the article “ Templars ” in 
the “ Encyclopaedia Britannica.” Almost any collection of 
English ballads, like Percy’s “ Reliques ” or Ritson’s 
“ Robin Hood,” will contain references that illustrate the 
life of the outlaws in Sherwood Forest. F. J. Child’s 


SUGGESTIONS FOR TEACHERS 


xxm 


“ English and Scottish Ballads” (10 vols., Houghton, 
Mifflin and Co.) is the most complete collection. Consult 
particularly Vol. v. 

Biographies of Scott. — J. G. Lockhart’s “ Life of Scott ” 
(the references in the foot-notes are to the Household edi- 
tion, Ticknor and Fields, Boston, 1861, in nine volumes) 
and “ The Journal of Sir Walter Scott” (Harpers, 2 vols., 
1890) should by all means be accessible to the class. R. H. 
Hutton’s “ Life of Scott ” (English Men of Letters Series, 
Harpers) is the best of the shorter biographies. C. D. 
Longe’s (Great Writers Series) contains a valuable bibli- 
ography, compiled by John P. Anderson of the British 
Museum. Washington Irving’s “ Abbotsford ” and James 
F. Hunnewell’s “ Lands of Scott” (Boston, Osgood, 1871) 
may also be consulted. 

Criticisms. — Interesting contemporary criticisms of 
“ Ivanhoe ” will be found in Blackwood’s Edinburgh 
Magazine (Vol. vi, 1819), The Edinburgh Review (Vol. 
xxxiii, 1820), and The Quarterly Review (Vol. xxvi, 1821). 
Carlyle’s article on Scott in the Westminster Review (Vol. 
xxx, 1838), reprinted in his “ Miscellanies,” is one of his 
most brilliant pieces of writing. Scott’s relation to the 
Romantic movement in European literature is well dis- 
cussed by Julia Wedgwood in the Contemporary Review, 
October, 1878 (also in LittelVs Living Age, Vol. 139). 
Compare also her article entitled “ Ethics and Literature ” 
in the Contemporary for January, 1897. Ruskin’s first 
article on “ Fiction, Fair and Foul ” ( Nineteenth Century, 
June, 1880) is devoted to Scott, and should be compared 
with the view of Scott expressed in Books iii and v of 
“ Modern Painters.” Consult also the essays by Walter 
Bagehot (in “ Literary Studies ”) and Leslie Stephen 
(“ Hours in a Library ”); the article on the Scott centenary 
in the Nation (August 17, 1871); T. S. Perry’s article in 
the Atlantic (Vol. 46, 1880); N. W. Senior’s “Essays in 
Fiction” (London, 1864); David Masson’s “British Novel- 
ists,” Chapter iii (Boston, 1875); and W. D. Howells’s 
“ Criticism and Fiction,” Chapter iv (Harpers, 1891). 
For other critical articles upon Scott, see Poole’s “ Index 
to Periodical Literature.” 


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xxvii 


the Peak. 

1823. Quentin Durward. 

1824. St. Ronan’s Well. Redgauntlet. 1824. Byron died. 

1825. Tales of the Crusaders. [The 1825. Huxley born. 

Betrothed, The Talisman.] 


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IYANHOE 


A ROMANCE 


Now fitted the halter, now traversed the cart, 

And often took leave, — but seemed loath to depart!* 

Prior. 


*The motto alludes to the Author returning' to the stage repeatedly 
after having taken leave. 


H>efctcatton * 


TO 

THE KING'S MOST GRACIOUS MAJESTY 


f 

i • 

Sire: 

The author of this collection of Works of Fiction would not 
have presumed to solicit for them your Majesty’s august patronage, 
were it not that the perusal has been supposed in some instances 
to have succeeded in amusing hours of relaxation, or relieving 
those of languor, pain, or anxiety, and therefore must have so far 
aided the warmest wish of your Majesty’s heart, by contributing, 
in however small a degree, to the happiness of your people. 

They are therefore humbly dedicated to your Majesty, agreeably 
to your gracious permission, by 

Your Majesty’s Dutiful Subject, 

WALTER SCOTT. 

Abbotsford, 

1st January, 1829. 


* From the 1829 edition of Scott’s Collected Works. 


A 


IVANHOE 


CHAPTER I 

Thus communed these ; while to their lowly dome, 

The full-fed swine return d with evening home ; 

CompelFd, reluctant, to the several sties, 

With din obstreperous, and ungrateful cries. 

Pope’s Odyssey . _ 

In that pleasant district of merry England which is 
watered by the river Don/ there extended in ancient times 
a large forest, covering the greater part of the beautiful 
hills and valleys which lie between Sheffield 2 and the 
pleasant town of Doncaster . 3 The remains of this exten- 
sive wood are still to he seen at the noble seats of Went- 
worth , 4 of Warncliffe Park , 5 and around Rotherham . 6 
Here haunted of yore the fabulous Dragon of Wantley 7 ; 
here were fought many of the most desperate battles during 
the Civil Wars of the Roses 8 ; and here also flourished in 
ancient times those bands of gallant outlaws, whose deeds 
have been rendered so popular in English song. 

Such being jour chief scene, the date of our story refers 

1 A river in the West Riding of Yorkshire, navigable nearly to 
Sheffield. 

2 An important city of Yorkshire, the centre of the cutlery indus- 
try. 

3 A market-town, famed for its race-course. 

4 Wentworth Castle was once the seat of the Earls of Stratford. 

6 Warncliffe (Wharncliffe) Lodge, built in 1510, was formerly the 
residence of Lady Mary Wortley Montagu. 

6 A manufacturing town, six miles from Sheffield. 

7 Wantley is a corruption of Warncliffe. The dragon was killed 
by a legendary hero, called More of More Hall. See Percy’s Reliques, 
i ii, 3, 13. 

“ The struggle between the rival houses of Lancaster and York, 
whose badges were a red rose and white rose, respectively. It lasted 
from about 1450 to the defeat of Richard III at Bosworth Field in 
1485. 


4 


1 VAN HOE 


to a period towards the end of the reign of Richard V when 
his return from his long captivity had become an event 
rather wished than hoped for by his despairing subjects, 
who were in the meantime subjected to every species of 
subordinate oppression. The nobles, whose power had be- 
come exorbitant during the reign of Stephen , 2 and whom 
the prudence of Henry the Second 2 had scarce reduced 
to some degree of subjection to the crown, had now resumed 
their ancient license in its utmost extent; despising the 
feeble interference of the English Council of State , 3 forti- 
fying their castles, increasing the number of their depend- 
ants, reducing all around them to a state of vassalage, and 
striving, by every means in their power, to place themselves 
each at the head of such forces as might enable him to 
make a figure in the national convulsions which appeared 
to be impending. 

The situation of the inferior gentry, or Franklins , 4 as 
they were called, who, by the law and spirit of the English 
constitution, were entitled to hold themselves independent 
of feudal tyranny, became now unusually precarious. If, 
as was most generally the case, they placed themselves 
under the protection of any of the petty kings 5 in their 
vicinity, accepted of feudal offices in his household, or 
bound themselves by mutual treaties of alliance and protec- 
tion, to support him in his enterprises, they might indeed 
purchase temporary repose; but it must be with the sacri- 
fice of that independence which was so dear to every 
English bosom, and at the certain hazard of being involved 
as a party in whatever rash expedition the ambition of their 
protector might lead him to undertake. On the other 
hand, such and so multiplied were the means of vexation 
and oppression possessed by the great Barons, that they 
never wanted the pretext, and seldom the will, to harass 
and pursue, even to the very edge of destruction, any of 
their less powerful neighbours who attempted to separate 

1 Richard the Lion-Heart reigned from 1189 to 1199. His captivity 
in Austria lasted from December, 1192, to January, 1194. He landed 
in England in March of the latter year. 

2 See the Table oe English Kings. 

3 The principal body of advisers of the sovereign. The term is 
used here in a very loose sense. 

4 See Chaucer’s Prologue to the Canterbury Tales , 11. 331-860. 

5 The “ Barons ” referred to below, 


1 VAN HOE 


5 


themselves from their authority, and to trust for their 
protection, during the dangers of the times, to their own 
inoffensive conduct and to the laws of the land. 

A circumstance which greatly tended to enhance the 
tyranny of the nobility, and the sufferings of the inferior 
classes, arose from the consequences of the Conquest 1 by 
Duke \\ illiam of Normandy. Four generations had not 
sufficed to blend the hostile blood of the Normans and 
Anglo-Saxons, or to unite, by common language and mutual 
interests, two hostile races, one of which still felt the ela- 
tion of triumph, while the other groaned under all the 
consequences of defeat. The power had been completely 
placed in the hands of the Norman nobility by the event 
of the battle of Hastings , 2 and it had been used, as our 
histories assure us, with no moderate hand. The whole 
race of Saxon princes and nobles had been extirpated or 
disinherited, with few or no exceptions; nor were the 
numbers great who possessed land in the country of their 
fathers, even as proprietors of the second, or of yet inferior 
classes. The royal policy had long been to weaken, by 
every means, legal or illegal, the strength of a part of the 
population which was justly considered as nourishing the 
most inveterate antipathy to their victor. All the monarchs 
of the Norman race had shown the most marked predilec- 
tion for their Norman subjects; the laws of the chase, and 
many others equally unknown to the milder and more free 
spirit of the Saxon constitution, had been fixed upon the 
necks of the subjugated inhabitants, to add weight, as it 
were, to the feudal chains with which they were loaded. 
At court, and in the castles of the great nobles, where the 
pomp and state of a court was emulated, Norman-French 3 
was the only language employed; in courts of law , 4 the 
pleadings and judgments were delivered in the same 
tongue. In short, French was the language of honour, of 
chivalry, and even of justice, while the far more manly 
and expressive Anglo-Saxon was abandoned to the use of 

1 See the discussion of this point in the Editor’s Introduction. 

2 The battle of Hastings, or Senlac, in which William the Con- 
queror defeated the English under Harold, was fought on Oct. 14, 
1066. 

3 See 0. F. Emerson’s History of the English Language , chap. iv. 

1 The pleadings in the law courts were conducted in English after 

1362. See Emerson, p. 64. 


6 


IV AN IIO E 


rustics and hinds/ who knew no other. Still, however, 
the necessary intercourse between the lords of the soil, and 
those oppressed inferior beings by whom that soil was 
cultivated, occasioned the gradual formation of a dialect , 1 2 
compounded betwixt the French and the Anglo-Saxon, in 
which they could render themselves mutually intelligible to 
each other; and from this necessity arose by degrees the 
structure of our present English language, in which the 
speech of the victors and the vanquished have been so 
happily blended together; and which has since been so 
richly improved by importations from the classical lan- 
guages, and from those spoken by the southern nations of 
Europe. 

This state of things I have thought it necessary to 
premise for the information of the general reader, who 
might be apt to forget that, although no great historical 
events, such as war or insurrection, mark the existence of 
the Anglo-Saxons as a separate people subsequent to the 
reign of William the Second , 3 yet the great national dis- 
tinctions betwixt them and their conquerors, the recol- 
lection of what they had formerly been, and to what they 
were now reduced, continued, down to the reign of Edward 
the Third , 3 to keep open the wounds which the Conquest 
had inflicted, and to maintain a line of separation betwixt 
the descendants of the victor Normans and the vanquished 
Saxons. 

The sun was setting upon one of the rich grassy glades 
of that forest which we have mentioned in the beginning 

O Q 

of the chapter. Hundreds of broad-headed, short-stemmed, 
wide-branched oaks, which had witnessed perhaps the 
stately march of the Roman soldiery , 4 flung their gnarled 
arms over a thick carpet of the most delicious green sward; 
in some places they were intermingled with beeches, hollies, 

1 Farm labourers. 

2 See Earle’s Philology of the English Tongue, for a vivid sketch of 
the rise of the English language. 

3 See the Table of English Kings. 

4 The Romans first invaded Britain under Julius Caesar in 55 b.c. 
By the end of the first centufy a.d. they had penetrated as far 
northward as the Frith of Forth. The island remained a Roman 
province until the fifth century, when the Saxon invasion and con- 
quest followed upon the withdrawal of the Roman troops. 


IV AN II OE 


7 


and copsewood of various descriptions, so closely as totally 
to intercept the level beams of the sinking sun; in others 
they receded from each other, forming those long sweeping 
vistas, in the intricacy of which the eye delights to lose 
itself, while imagination considers them as the paths to 
yet wilder scenes of silvan solitude. Here the red rays of 
the sun shot a broken and discoloured light, that partially 
hung upon the shattered boughs and mossy trunks of the 
trees, and there they illuminated in brilliant patches the 
portions of turf to which they made their way. A con- 
siderable open space, in the midst of this glade, seemed 
formerly to have been dedicated to the rites of Druidical 1 
superstition; for, on the summit of a hillock, so regular 
as to seem artificial, there still remained part of a circle 
of rough unhewn stones, of large dimensions. Seven stood 
upright; the rest had been dislodged from their places, 
probably by the zeal of some convert to Christianity, and 
lay, some prostrate near their former site, and others on 
the side of the hill. One large stone only had found its 
way to the bottom, and in stopping the course of a small 
brook, which glided smoothly round the foot of the emi- 
nence, gave, by its opposition, a feeble voice of murmur 
to the placid and elsewhere silent streamlet. 

The human figures which completed this landscape, 
were in number two, partaking, in their dress and appear- 
ance, of that wild and rustic character which belonged to 
the woodlands of the West-Riding 2 of Yorkshire at that 
early period. The eldest of these men had a stern, savage, 
and wild aspect. ITis garment was of the simplest form 
imaginable, being a close jacket with sleeves, composed of 
the tanned skin of some animal, on which the hair had 
been originally left, but which had been worn off in so 
many places that it would have been difficult to distinguish 
from the patches that remained, to what creature the fur 
had belonged. This primeval vestment reached from the 
throat to the knees, and served at once all the usual pur- 
poses of body-clothing; there was no wider opening at the 

1 The Druids were the priests of the ancient Celts in Gaul, Britain, 
and Ireland. Remains of their sacred inclosures are found in many 
parts of England, notably at Stonehenge. 

2 One of the three divisions of Yorkshire, including the southern 
and western portions. 


8 


IVAN1I0E 


collar than was necessary to admit the passage of the head, 
from which it may be inferred that it was put on by slip- 
ping it over the head and shoulders, in the manner of a 
modern shirt, or ancient hauberk . 1 Sandals, bound with 
thongs made of boars’ hide, protected the feet, and a roll of 
thin leather was twined artificially round the legs, and, 
ascending above the calf, left the knees bare, like those 
of a Scottish Highlander. To make the jacket sit yet 
more close to the body, it was gathered at the middle by 
a broad leathern belt, secured by a brass buckle; to one side 
of which was attached a sort of scrip , 2 and to the other a 
ram’s horn, accoutred with a mouthpiece, for the purpose 
of blowing. In the same belt was stuck one of those long, 
broad, sharp-pointed, and two-edged knives, with a buck’s- 
liorn handle, which were fabricated in the neighbourhood, 
and bore even at this early period the name of a Sheffield 
whittle. The man had no covering upon his head, which 
was only defended by his own thick hair, matted and 
twisted together, and scorched by the influence of the sun 
into a rusty dark-red colour, forming a contrast with the 
overgrown beard upon his cheeks, which was rather of a 
yellow or amber hue. One part of his dress only remains, 
but it is too remarkable to be suppressed; it was a brass 
ring, resembling a dog’s collar, but without any opening, 
and soldered fast round his neck, so loose as to form no 
impediment to his breathing, yet so tight as to be in- 
capable of being removed, excepting by the use of the file. 
On this singular gorget 3 was engraved, in Saxon characters, 
an inscription of the following purport : — “ Gurth , 4 the son 
of Beowulph , 4 is the born thrall 5 of Cedric 4 of Bother- 
wood.” 

Beside the swineherd, for such was Gurth’s occupation, 
was seated, upon one of the fallen Druidical monuments, 
a person about ten years younger in appearance, and whose 
dress, though resembling his companion’s in form, was of 
better materials, and of a more fantastic appearance. His 

1 Armour for the protection of the upper part of the body. 

3 Pouch. 

3 Literally, a piece of armour for protecting the throat. 

4 Gurth was a common Saxon name. Beowulph is undoubtedly 
taken from the name of the great Anglo-Saxon epic, Beowulf. Ce- 
dric, as Freeman has pointed out, is not Saxon at all. 

0 Slave. 


IVAN II OF 


13 


“Betray thee! ” answered the Jester; “ no, that were 
the trick of a wise man; a fool cannot half so well help 
himself — hut soft, whom have we here ? ” he said, listening 
to the trampling of several horses which became then 
audible. 

u Never mind whom/' answered Gurth, who had now got 
his herd before him, and, with the aid of Fangs, was driving 
them down one of the long dim vistas which we have 
endeavoured to describe. 

“ Nay, but I must see the riders/’ answered Wamba; 
“ perhaps they are come from Fairy-land with a message 
from King Oberon.” 1 

“ A murrain take thee/’ rejoined the swineherd; “ wilt 
thou talk of such things, while a terrible storm of thunder 
and lightning is raging within a few miles of us? Hark, 
how the thunder rumbles! and for summer rain, I never 
saw such broad downright flat drops fall out of the clouds; 
the oaks, too, notwithstanding the calm weather, sob and 
creak with their great boughs as if announcing a tempest. 
Thou canst play the rational 2 if thou wilt; credit me for 
once, and let us home ere the storm begins to rage, for the 
night will be fearful.” 

Wamba seemed to feel the force of this appeal, and ac- 
companied his companions, who began his journey after 
catching up a long quarter-staff 3 which lay upon the grass 
beside him. This second Eumaeus 4 strode hastily down 
•the forest glade, driving before him, with the assistance 
of Fangs, the whole herd of his inharmonious charge. 

1 The king of the fairies. See Midsummer Night's Dream . Oberon 
the Fay was very early celebrated in French mediaeval romances. 

2 Drop thy folly. 

3 An old English weapon, consisting of a pole some six feet in 
length. It was grasped in the middle by one hand, while the other, 
shifting its hold from one quarter of the staff to the other, gave it a 
swift rotary motion, difficult to parry. 

4 The name of the swineherd of Ulysses in the Odyssey. 

1 

[Suggestions to Students. — The function of the opening chapter 
of a novel is ordinarily to give a picture of the time or place in which 
the story is to move, or to introduce some of the minor — occasionally 
the leading — characters, or to strike the key-note of the dramatic 
action. If it is prevailingly narrative, rather than descriptive, it 
usually deals with an event from which the subsequent events of the 
book distinctly take their origin, or an event or scene which must be 


14 


IVANIIOE 


explained before the reader can advance into the story, or one to the 
explanation of which the entire book is to be devoted. Which of 
these various purposes does the first chapter of Ivanhoe seem to you 
to fulfil ? Compare it, for effectiveness, with the opening chapter of 
Scott’s earliest novels, such as Waverley and Guy Mannering ; with 
some of Ins later novels, such as Kenilworth and Quentin Durward. 
Study tin's first conversation of the jester and the swineherd as an 
example of character-contrast.] 


CHAPTER II 


A Monk there was, a fayre for the maistrie, 

An outrider that loved venerie; 

A manly man, to be an Abbot able, 

Full many a daintie horse had he in stable: 

And whan he rode, men might his bridle hear 
Gingeling in a whistling wind as clear, 

And eke as loud, as doth the chapell bell, 

There as this lord was keeper of the cell. 

Chaucer. 

Notwithstanding the occasional exhortation and elud- 
ing of his companion, the noise of the horsemen’s feet 
continuing to approach, Wamba could not be prevented 
from lingering occasionally on the road, upon every pre- 
tence which occurred; now catching from the hazel a 
cluster of half-ripe nuts, and now turning his head to leer 
after a cottage maiden who crossed their path. The horse- 
men, therefore, soon overtook them on the road. 

Their numbers amounted to ten men, of whom the two 
who rode foremost seemed to be persons of considerable 
importance, and the others their attendants. It was not 
difficult to ascertain the condition and character of one of 
these personages. lie was obviously an ecclesiastic, of high 
rank; his dress was that of a Cistercian 1 Monk, but com- 
posed of materials much finer than those which the rule of 
that order admitted. His mantle and hood were of the 
best Flanders 2 cloth, and fell in ample, and not ungraceful 
folds, around a handsome, though somewhat corpulent per- 
son. His countenance bore as little the marks of self- 
denial as his habit indicated contempt of worldly splen- 
dour. His features might have been called good, had there 

1 The name of a monastic order under the rule of St. Benedict, 
founded in 1098 at Citeaux (Cistercium; “the cisterns,” so called 
from its low, swampy situation), near Dijon, in France. See Kate 
Norgate’s England under the Angevin Kings, i, 70. 

2 Flanders cloth had been imported in great quantities from the 
beginning of the century. 


16 


IVAN HO E 


not lurked under the pent-house 1 of his eye that sly 
epicurean 2 twinkle which indicates the cautious volup- 
tuary. In other respects, his profession and situation had 
taught him a ready command over his countenance, which 
he could contract at pleasure into solemnity, although its 
natural expression was that of good-humoured social indul- 
gence. In defiance of conventual rules, and the edicts of 
popes and councils, the sleeves 3 of this dignitary were 
lined and turned up with rich furs, his mantle secured at 
the throat with a golden clasp, and the whole dress proper 
to his order as much refined upon and ornamented, as that 
of a quaker beauty of the present day, who, while she 
retains the garb and costume of her sect, continues to give 
to its simplicity, by the choice of materials and the mode of 
disposing them, a certain air of coquettish attraction, 
savouring hut too much of the vanities of the world. 

This worthy churchman rode upon a well-fed ambling 
mule, whose furniture was highly decorated, and whose 
bridle, according to the fashion of the day, was ornamented 
with silver bells. In his seat he had nothing of the awk- 
wardness of the convent, but displayed the easy and habitual 
grace of a well-trained horseman. Indeed, it seemed that 
so humble a conveyance as a mule, in however good case, 
and however well broken to a pleasant and accommodating- 
amble, w r as only used by the gallant monk for travelling on 
the road. A lay brother , 4 one of those who followed in the 
train, had, for his use on other occasions, one of the most 
handsome Spanish jennets 5 ever bred at Andalusia, which 
merchants used at that time to import, with great trouble 
and risk, for the use of persons of wealth and distinction. 
The saddle and housings 6 of this superb palfrey were 
covered by a long foot-cloth, which reached nearly to the 
ground,- and on which were richly embroidered mitres , 7 

1 See the description of Merlin’s eyebrows in Tennyson’s Merlin 
and Vivien. 

2 Epicurus, the Greek philosopher (342-270 b.c.), taught that 
pleasure is the only possible end of rational action. 

3 The costume and character of this churchman should be compared 
in detail with Chaucer’s description of the Monk in the Prologue, 11. 
165-207. 

4 One who serves in a monastery, under the vows of celibacy and 
obedience, but who is not in holy orders. 

5 A small Spanish horse. 

6 Trappings. 7 A bishop’s head-dress. 


IV AN HOE 


19 


warrior and his retinue was wild and outlandish; the dress 
of his squires was gorgeous, and his Eastern attendants 
wore silver collars round their throats, and bracelets of the 
same metal upon their swarthy arms and legs, of which the 
former were naked from the elbow, and the latter from 
mid-leg to ankle. Silk and embroidery distinguished their 
dresses, and marked the wealth and importance of their 
master; forming, at the same time, a striking contrast with 
the martial simplicity of his own attire. They were armed 
with crooked sabres, having the hilt and baldric 1 inlaid 
with gold, and matched with Turkish daggers of yet more 
costly workmanship. Each of them bore at his saddle- 
how a bundle of darts or javelins, about four feet in length, 
having sharp steel heads, a weapon much in use among the 
Saracens , 2 and of which the memory is yet preserved in the 
martial exercise called El Jerrid , 3 still practised in the 
Eastern countries. 

The steeds of these attendants were in appearance as 
foreign as their riders. They were of Saracen origin, and 
consequently of Arabian descent; and their fine slender 
limbs, small fetlocks, thin manes, and easy springy motion, 
formed a marked contrast with the large- jointed heavy 
horses, of which the race was cultivated in Flanders and in 
Normandy, for mounting the men-at-arms of the period in 
all the panoply of plate and mail; and which, placed by the 
side of those Eastern coursers, might have passed for a 
personification of substance and of shadow. 

The singular appearance of this cavalcade not only at- 
tracted the curiosity of Wamba, but excited even that of 
his less volatile companion. The monk he instantly knew 
to be the Prior 4 of Jorvaulx Abbey , 5 well known for many 

1 A belt worn over the shoulder, crossing the body diagonally, to 
support a weapon or hunting horn. 

2 The name of a predatory Arab tribe, assumed by the followers of 
Mohammed, and used in a loose sense by the C rusaders to denote 
their opponents. 

3 A game in which the javelin is cast through rings, bee Scott s 
Vision of Eon Roderick, St. 25. 

4 Strictly, the head of a priory, a religious house next in importance 

to an abbey, so that a prior ranked below an abbot. If he was attached 
to an abbey, it was as a sort of assistant or representative of the 
abbot. Scott c f Jorvaulx both Prior and Abbot. 

5 A Cistercia: aulx) in the North Riding of Yorkshire, 

founded in 115 1 is. It was in the valley of the river Pie 

(Jorc), whence 


20 


I VAN HOE 


miles around as a lover of the chase, of the banquet, and, 
if fame did him not wrong, of other worldly pleasures still 
more inconsistent with his monastic vows. 

Yet so loose were the ideas of the times respecting the 
conduct of the clergy, whether secular or regular, that the 
Prior Aymer maintained a fair character in the neighbour- 
hood of his abbey. His free and jovial temper, and the 
readiness with which he granted absolution 1 from all 
ordinary delinquencies, rendered him a favourite among 
the nobility and principal gentry, to several of whom he 
was allied by birth, being of a distinguished Norman 
family. The ladies, in particular, were not disposed to 
scan too nicely the morals of a man who was a professed 
admirer of their sex, and who possessed many means of 
dispelling the ennui 2 which was too apt to intrude upon the 
halls and bowers of an ancient feudal castle. The Prior 
mingled in the sports of the field with more than due eager- 
ness, and was allowed to possess the best-trained hawks, 
and the fleetest greyhounds in the North Hiding; circum- 
stances which strongly recommended him to the youthful 
gentry. With the old, he had another part to play, which, 
when needful, he could sustain with great decorum. His 
knowledge of books, however superficial, was sufficient to 
impress upon their ignorance respect for his supposed 
learning; and the gravity of his deportment and language, 
with the high tone which he exerted in setting forth the 
authority of the church and of the priesthood, impressed 
them no less with an opinion of his sanctity. Even the 
common people, the severest critics of the conduct of their 
betters, had commiseration with the follies of Prior Aymer. 
He was generous; and charity, as it is well known, covereth 
a multitude of sins, in another sense than that in which it is 
said to do so in Scripture . 3 The revenues of the monastery, 
of which a large part was at his disposal, while they gave 
him the means of supplying his own very considerable 
expenses, afforded also those largesses which he bestowed 
among the peasantry, and with which he frequently re- 
lieved the distresses of the oppressed. If Prior Aymer 
rode hard in the chase, or remained long at the banquet, — 
if Prior Aymer was seen, at the early peep of dawn, to enter 

1 Chaucer’s Prologue , 11. 221-228. 

2 Tedium. 3 1 Peter iv. 8. 


IVANHOE 


21 


the postern of the abbey, as he glided home from some 
rendezvous which had occupied the hours of darkness, men 
only shrugged up their shoulders, and reconciled them- 
selves to his irregularities, by recollecting that the same 
were practised by many of his brethren who had no redeem- 
ing qualities whatsoever to atone for them. Prior Aymer, 
therefore, and his character, were well known to our 
Saxon serfs, who made their rude obeisance, and received 
his “ benedicite, mesfllz,” 1 in return. 

But the singular appearance of his companion and his 
attendants arrested their attention and excited their won- 
der, and they could scarcely attend to the Trior of Jorvaulx’ 
question, when he demanded if they knew of any place 
of harbourage in the vicinity; so much were they sur- 
prised at the half-monastic, half-military appearance of the 
swarthy stranger, and at the uncouth dress and arms of his 
Eastern attendants. It is probable, too, that the language 
in which the benediction was conferred, and the informa- 
tion asked, sounded ungracious, though not probably unin- 
telligible, in the ears of the Saxon peasants. 

“ I asked you, my children/’ said the Prior, raising his 
voice, and using the lingua Franca, or mixed language, in 
which the Norman and Saxon races conversed with each 
other, “ if there be in this neighbourhood any good man 
who, for the love of God and devotion to Mother Church, 
will give two of her humblest servants, with their train, a 
night’s hospitality and refreshment? ” 

This he spoke with a tone of conscious importance, 
which formed a strong contrast to the modest terms which 
he thought it proper to employ. 

“ Two of the humblest servants of Mother Church! ” 
repeated Wamba to himself, — but, fool as he was, taking 
care not to make his observation audible; “ 1 should like to 
see her seneschals, 2 her chief butlers, and other principal 
domestics! ” 

After this internal commentary on the Prior’s speech, he 
raised his eyes, and replied to the question which had been 
put. 

“ If the reverend fathers,” he said, “ loved good cheer 
and soft lodging, a few miles of riding would carry them to 

1 “Bless you, my sons.” 

2 Stewards. 


22 


1 VAN HOE 


the Priory of Brinxworth , 1 where their quality could not 
but secure them the most honourable reception; or if they 
preferred spending a penitential evening, they might turn 
down yonder wild glade, which would bring them to the 
hermitage of Copmanhurst, where a pious anchoret 2 would 
make them sharers for the night of the shelter of his roof 
and the benefit of his prayers.” 

The Prior shook his head at both proposals. 

“ Mine honest friend,” said he, “ if the jangling of thy 
bells had not dizzied thine understanding, thou mightst 
know Clericus clericum non decimal 3 ; that is to say, we 
churchmen do not exhaust each other’s hospitality, but 
rather require that of the laity, giving them thus an oppor- 
tunity to serve God in honouring and relieving his ap- 
pointed servants.” 

“ It is true,” replied Wamba, “ that I, being but an ass, 
am, nevertheless, honoured to bear the bells as well as your 
reverence’s mule; notwithstanding, I did conceive that the 
charity of Mother Church and her servants might be said, 
with other charity, to begin at home.” 

“ A truce to thine insolence, fellow,” said the armed 
rider, breaking in on his prattle with a high and stern voice, 
“ and tell us, if thou canst, the road to — How call’d you 
your Franklin, Prior Aymer? ” 

“ Cedric,” answered the Prior; “ Cedric the Saxon. — Tell 
me, good fellow, are we near his dwelling, and can you 
show us the road? ” 

“ The road will be uneasy to find,” answered Gurth, who 
broke silence for the first time, “ and the family of Cedric 
retire early to rest.” 

“ Tush, tell not me, fellow,” said the military rider; 
“ ’tis easy for them to arise and supply the wants of trav- 
ellers such as we are, who will not stoop to beg the hospi- 
tality which we have a right to command.” 

“ I know not,” said Gurth, sullenly, “ if I should show 
the way to my master’s house, to those who demand as a 
right the shelter which most are fain to ask as a favour.” 

“ Do you dispute with me, slave! ” said the soldier; 

1 There is a town called Brinsworth in the West Riding 
Rotherham. 

2 Anchorite; hermit. 

3 One clergyman does not take tithes of another, 


IV AN II OE 


23 


setting spurs to liis horse, he caused him make a demivolte 1 
across the path, raising at the same time the riding rod 
which he held in his hand, with a purpose of chastising 
what he considered as the insolence of the peasant. 

Gurtli darted at him a savage and revengeful scowl, and 
with a fierce, yet hesitating motion, laid his hand on the 
haft of his knife; but the interference of Prior Aymer, who 
pushed his mule betwixt his companion and the swineherd, 
prevented the meditated violence. 

“ Nay, by St. Mary , 2 brother Brian, you must not think 
you are now in Palestine, predominating over heathen 
Turks and infidel Saracens; we islanders love not blows, 
save those of holy Church, who chasteneth whom she 
loveth. — Tell me, good fellow,” said he to Wamba, and 
seconded his speech by a small piece of silver coin, “ the 
way to Cedric the Saxon’s; you cannot be ignorant of it, 
and it is your duty to direct the wanderer even when his 
character is less sanctified than ours.” 

“ In truth, venerable father,” answered the Jester, “ the 
Saracen head of your right reverend companion has fright- 
ened out of mine the way home — I am not sure I shall get 
there to-night myself.” 

“ Tush,” said the Abbot, “ thou canst tell us if thou wilt. 
This reverend brother has been all his life engaged in fight- 
ing among the Saracens for the recovery of the Holy Sepul- 
chre 3 ; he is of the order of Knights Templars , 4 whom you 
may have heard of; he is half a monk, half a soldier.” 

“ If he is but half a monk,” said the Jester, “ he should 
not he wholly unreasonable with those whom he meets 

1 A half-turn, with the forelegs raised. 

2 St. Mary the Virgin. 

3 The recovery of the sepulchre of Christ from the Mohammedans 
was at first the leading motive for the Crusades. The First Crusade 
(1096-99), under Godfrey of Bouillon, resulted in the capture of 
Jerusalem and the establishment of a Christian kingdom in Pales- 
tine. Jerusalem was retaken by the Saracens in 1187, and it had 
been the object of the Third Crusade (1189-92), led by Richard the 
Lion-Heart, Frederick Barbarossa of Germany, and Philip Augustus 
of France, to recapture it. The attempt failed. 

4 One of the military orders, founded at Jerusalem early in the 
twelfth century, for the protection of pilgrims to Palestine, and hav- 
ing its first headquarters in the so-called Temple of Solomon. Dur- 
ing the next two centuries the Templars acquired great influence 
throughout Europe, but were suppressed by the Council of Vienne in 
1312, because of charges of heresy and immorality. 


24 


I VAN HOE 


upon the road, even if they should be in no hurry to answer 
questions that no way concern them.” 

“ I forgive thy wit/* replied the Abbot, “ on condition 
thou wilt show me the way to Cedric’s mansion.” 

“ Well, then,” answered Wamba, “ your reverences must 
hold on this path till you come to a sunken cross, of which 
scarce a cubit’s length remains above ground; then take the 
path to the left, for there are four which meet at Sunken 
Cross, and I trust your reverences will obtain shelter before 
the storm comes on.” 

The Abbot thanked his sage adviser; and the cavalcade, 
setting spurs to their horses, rode on as men do who wish 
to reach their inn before the bursting of a night-storm. As 
their horses’ hoofs died away, Gurth said to his companion, 
“ If they follow thy wise direction, the reverend fathers 
will hardly reach Eotherwood this night.” 

“ No,” said the Jester, grinning, “but they may reach 
Sheffield if they have good luck, and that is as tit a place 
for them. I am not so bad a woodsman as to show the dog 
where the deer lies, if I have no mind he should chase 
him.” 

“ Thou art right,” said Gurth; “ it were ill that Aymer 
saw the Lady Rowena; and it were worse, it may be, for 
Cedric to quarrel, as is most likely he would, with this 
military monk. But, like good servants, let us hear and 
see, and say nothing.” 

We return to the riders, who had soon left the bonds- 
men far behind them, and who maintained the following 
conversation in the Norman-French language, usually em- 
ployed by the superior classes, with the exception of the 
few who were still inclined to boast their Saxon descent. 

“ What mean these fellows by their capricious inso- 
lence?” said the Templar to the Benedictine, “and why 
did you prevent me from chastising it ? ” 

“ Marry , 1 brother Brian,” replied the Prior, “ touching 
the one of them, it were hard for me to render a reason for 
a fool speaking according to his folly; and the other churl 2 
is of that savage, fierce, intractable race, some of whom, as 

1 Forsooth. 

2 Literally, one of the lowest class of freemen, who held land from 
his lord, or worked on his estate. From the supposedly rude man- 
ners of this class, the word took on a more general significance. 


IV AN IIOE 


25 


I have often told you, are still to he found among the 
descendants of the conquered Saxons, and whose supreme 
pleasure it is to testify, by all means in their power, their 
aversion to their conquerors.” 

I would soon have beat him into courtesy,” observed 
Brian; “ I am accustomed to deal with such spirits. Our 
Turkish captives are as tierce and intractable as Odin 1 him- 
self could have been; yet two months in my household, 
under the management of my master of the slaves, has 
made them humble, submissive, serviceable, and observant 
of your will. Marry, sir, you must beware of the poison 
and the dagger; for they use either with free will when you 
give them the slightest opportunity.” 

“ Ay, but,” answered Prior Aymer, “ every land has its 
own manners and fashions; and, besides that beating this 
fellow could procure us no information respecting the road 
to Cedric’s house, it would have been sure to have estab- 
lished a quarrel betwixt you and him had w r e found our w T ay . 
thither. Kemember what I told you; this wealthy Franklin 
is proud, fierce, jealous, and irritable; a withstander of the 
nobility, and even of his neighbours, Reginald Front-de- 
Boeuf and Philip Malvoisin, who are no babes to strive 
with. He stands up so sternly for the privileges of his 
race, and is so proud of his uninterrupted descent from 
Hereward , 2 a renowned champion of the Heptarchy , 3 that 
he is universally called Cedric the Saxon; and makes a 
boast of his belonging to a people from whom many others 
endeavour to hide their descent, lest they should encounter 
a share of the vae victis , 4 or severities imposed upon the 
vanquished.” 

“ Prior Aymer,” said the Templar, “ you are a man of 
gallantry, learned in the study of beauty, and as expert as 

1 In Norse mythology, the chief of the gods. The Anglo-Saxon 
form of the name is Woden. 

2 A famous Saxon opponent of William the Conqueror, after 
the Normans had won almost all England except the fen country 
around Peterborough. See Charles Kingsley’s novel, Hereivard the 
Wake. 

3 The Heptarchy was composed of the seven principal Anglo-Saxon 
kingdoms: Kent, Sussex, Wessex, Mercia, East Anglia, Deira, and 
Bernicia. It really came to an end in 829, more than two centuries 
before the time of Hereward. 

4 Woe to the conquered. 


/ VAN IIO £ 


20 

a troubadour 1 in all matters concerning the arrets 2 of 
love; but I shall expect much beauty in this celebrated 
Rowena, to counterbalance the self-denial and forbearance 
which I must exert, if I am to court the favour of such a 
seditious churl as you have described her father Cedric.” 

“ Cedric is not her father,” replied the Prior, “ and is 
but of remote relation; she is descended from higher blood 
than even he pretends to, and is but distantly connected 
with him by birth. Her guardian, however, he is, self- 
constituted as I believe; but his ward is as dear to him as if 
she were his own child. Of her beauty you shall soon be 
judge; and if the purity of her complexion, and the 
majestic, yet soft expression of a mild blue eye, do not 
chase from your memory the black-tressed girls of Pales- 
tine, ay, or the houris 3 of old Mahound’s 3 paradise, I am 
an infidel, and no true son of the church.” 

“ Should your boasted beauty,” said the Templar, “ be 
weighed in the balance and found wanting, you know our - 
wager? ” J 

“My gold collar,” answered the Prior, “ against ten butts 
of Chian 4 wine; — they are mine as securely as if they were 
already in the convent vaults, under the key of old Dennis 
the cellarer.” 

“ And I am myself to be judge,” said the Templar, “ and 
am only to be convicted on my own admission, that I have 
seen no maiden so beautiful since Pentecost 5 was a twelve- 
month. Pan it not so? — Prior, your collar is in danger^ I 
will wear it over my gorget in the lists of Ashby-de-la- 
Zouche.” 6 

“ Win it fairly,” said the Prior, “ and wear it as ye will; 

I will trust your giving true response, on your word as a 
knight and as a churchman. Yet, brother, take my advice, 
and file your tongue to a little more courtesy than your 
habits of predominating over infidel captives and Eastern 

1 One of a class of poets who first appeared in Southern France, 

and flourished from the eleventh to the latter part of the thirteenth 
century. Some of them were knights who cultivated poetry and 
music as a polite accomplishment. 2 Decrees. 

3 The nymphs of Paradise, according to the teaching of Mohammed 
(Mahound). 

4 A famous Greek wine. 

6 The feast of Whitsunday, fifty days after Easter. 

c Ashby is a town in Leicestershire. 


IVAN HOE 


2? 


bondsmen have accustomed you. Cedric the Saxon, if 
offended, — and he is noway slack in taking offence, — is a 
man who, without respect to your knighthood, my high 
office, or the sanctity of either, would clear his house of us, 
and send us to lodge with the larks, though the hour were 
midnight. And be careful how you look on Rowena, whom 
he cherishes with the most jealous care; an he take the least 
alarm in that quarter we are but lost men. It is said he 
banished his only son from his family for lifting his eyes 
in the way of affection towards this beauty, who may be 
worshipped, it seems, at a distance, but is not to be ap- 
proached with other thoughts than such as we bring to the 
shrine of the Blessed Virgin.” 

“ Well, you have said enough,” answered the Templar; 
“ I will for a night put on the needful restraint, and deport 
me as meekly as a maiden; but as for fear of his expell- 
ing us by violence, myself and squires, with Hamlet and 
Abdalla, will warrant you against that disgrace. Doubt 
not that we shall be strong enough to make good our 
quarters.” 

“ We must not let it come so far,” answered the Prior; 
“ but here is the clown’s sunken cross, and the night is 
so dark that we can hardly see which of the roads we are 
to follow. Pie bid us turn, I think to the left.” 

“ To the right,” said Brian, “ to the best of my remem- 
brance.” 

“ To the left, certainly, the left; I remember his pointing 
with his wooden sword.” 

“ Ay, but he held his sword in his left hand, and so 
pointed across his body with it,” said the Templar. 

Each maintained his opinion with sufficient obstinacy, 
as is usual in all such cases; the attendants were appealed 
to, but they had not been near enough to hear Wamba’s 
directions. At length Brian remarked, what had at first 
escaped him in the twilight: “ Here is some one either 
asleep, or lying dead at the foot of this cross — Hugo, stir 
him with the butt-end of thy lance.” 

This was no sooner done than the figure arose, exclaim- 
ing in good French, “ Whosoever thou art, it is discourteous 
in you to disturb my thoughts.” 

“ We did but wish to ask you,” said the Prior, “ the road 
to Rotherwood, the abode of Cedric the Saxon.” 


28 


IV AN IIOE 


“ I myself am bound thither/’ replied the stranger; “and 
if I had a horse, I would be your guide, for the way is 
somewhat intricate, though perfectly well known to me.” 

“ Thou shalt have both thanks and reward, my friend,” 
said the Prior, “ if thou wilt bring us to Cedric’s in safety.” 

And he caused one of his attendants to mount his own 
led horse, and give that upon which he had hitherto ridden 
to the stranger, who was to serve for a guide. 

Their conductor pursued an opposite road from that 
which Wamba had recommended, for the purpose of mis- 
leading them. The path soon led deeper into the wood- 
land, and crossed more than one brook, the approach to 
which was rendered perilous by the marshes through which 
it flowed; but the stranger seemed to know, as if by instinct, 
the soundest ground and the safest points of passage; and 
by dint of caution and attention, brought the party safely 
into a wilder avenue than any they had yet seen; and, point- 
ing to a large low irregular building at the upper extremity, 
he said to the Prior, “ Yonder is Pother wood, the dwelling 
of Cedric the Saxon.” 

This was a joyful intimation to Aymer, whose nerves 
were none of the strongest, and who had suffered such 
agitation and alarm in the course of passing through the 
dangerous bogs that he had not yet had the curiosity to 
ask his guide a single question. Finding himself now at 
his ease and near shelter, his curiosity began to awake, and 
he demanded of the guide who and what he was. 

“ A Palmer , 1 just returned from the Holy Land,” was 
the answer. 

“ You had better have tarried there to fight for the 
recovery of the Holy Sepulchre,” said the Templar. 

“ True, Reverend Sir Knight,” answered the Palmer, to 
whom the appearance of the Templar seemed perfectly 
familiar; “ but when those who are under oath 2 to recover 
the holy city are found travelling at such a distance from 
the scene of their duties, can you wonder that a peaceful 
peasant like me should decline the task which they have 
abandoned? ” 

: A wandering religious votary ; especially one who had visited the 
Holy Land, and bore a branch of palm in token of it. 

2 Referring to the vow of the Templars to retake Jerusalem from 
the Saracens. 


IVAN1I0E 


29 


The Templar would have made an angry reply, but was 
interrupted by the Prior, who again expressed his astonish- 
ment that their guide, after such long absence, should be 
so perfectly acquainted with the passes of the forest. 

“ I was born a native of these parts/ 7 answered their 
guide, and as he made the reply they stood before the 
mansion of Cedric; — a low irregular building, containing 
several court-yards or enclosures, extending over a con- 
siderable space of ground, and which, though its size argued 
the inhabitant to be a person of wealth, differed entirely 
fiorn the tall, turretted, and castellated buildings in which 
the Norman nobility resided, and which had become the 
universal style of architecture throughout England. 

Itotherwood was not, however, without defences; no habi- 
tation, in that disturbed period, could have been so, with- 
out the risk of being plundered and burnt before the next 
morning. A deep fosse, or ditch, was drawn round the 
whole building, and filled with water from a neighbouring 
stream. A double stockade, or palisade, composed of 
pointed beams, which the adjacent forest supplied, de- 
fended the outer and inner bank of the trench. There was 
an entrance from the west through the outer stockade, 
which communicated by a drawbridge with a similar open- 
ing in the interior defences. Some precautions had been 
taken to place those entrances under the protection of 
projecting angles, by which they might be flanked in case 
of need by archers or slingers. 

Before this entrance the Templar wound his horn loudly; 
for the rain, which had long threatened, began now to 
descend with great violence. 

[What do you think of Scott’s habit of describing in minute detail 
the personal appearance of his characters, before he has made them 
reveal their nature by speech or action ? Do you recall any other 
novels in which Scott has depicted a worldly-minded ecclesiastic ? 
Compare the Templar with Marmion, in external traits and charac- 
ter, as far as this chapter reveals the Templar to us. Are the refer- 
ences to Cedric and Rowena, designed, of course, to prepare us for 
the following chapter, skilfully introduced ?] 


CHAPTER III 


Then (sad relief!) from the bleak coast that hears 
The German Ocean roar, deep-blooming, strong, 

And yellow hair’d, the blue-eyed Saxon came. 

Thomson’s Liberty. 

In a hall/ the height of which was greatly dispropor- 
tioned to its extreme length and width, a long oaken table, 
formed of planks rough-hewn from the forest, and which 
had scarcely received any polish, stood ready prepared for 
the evening meal of Cedric the Saxon. The roof, com- 
posed of beams and rafters, had nothing to divide the 
apartment from the sky excepting the planking and thatch; 
there was a huge fireplace at either end of the hall, but as 
the chimneys were constructed in a very clumsy manner, 
at least as much of the smoke found its way into the apart- 
ment as escaped by the proper vent. The constant vapour 
which this occasioned had polished the rafters and beams 
of the low-browed hall, by encrusting them, with a black 
varnish of soot. On the sides of the apartment hung 
implements of war and of the chase, and there' were at each 
corner folding doors, which gave access to other parts of 
the extensive building. 

The other appointments of the mansion partook of the 
rude simplicity of the Saxon period, which Cedric piqued 
himself upon maintaining. The floor was composed of 
earth mixed with lime, trodden into a hard substance, such 
as is often employed in flooring our modern barns. For 
about one quarter of the length of the apartment the floor 
was raised by a step, and this space, which was called the 
dais, was occupied only by the principal members of the 
family and visitors of distinction. For this purpose, a 
table richly covered with scarlet cloth was placed trans- 

1 A vivid description of the mediaeval “hall ” and the formal feasts 
there is to be found in Thomas Wright’s Domestic Manners and Sen- 
timents in England during the Middle Ages (1862). 


IVANHOE 


31 


versely across the platform, from the middle of which ran 
the longer and lower hoard, at which the domestics and 
inferior persons fed, down towards the bottom of the hall. 
The whole resembled the form of the letter T, or some of 
those ancient dinner-tables which, arranged on the same 
principles, may be still seen in the antique Colleges of 
Oxford or Cambridge. Massive chairs and settles of carved 
oak were placed upon the dais, and over these seats and the 
more elevated table was fastened a canopy of cloth, which 
served in some degree to protect the dignitaries who occu- 
pied that distinguished station from the weather, and 
especially from the rain, which in some places found its 
' way through the ill-constructed roof. 

The walls of this upper end of the hall, as far as the dais 
extended, were covered with hangings or curtains, and 
upon the floor there was a carpet, both of which were 
adorned with some attempts at tapestry, or embroidery, 
executed with brilliant or rather gaudy colouring. Over the 
lower range of table, the roof, as we have noticed, had no 
covering; the rough plastered walls were left bare, and the 
rude earthen floor was uncarpeted; the board was un- 
covered by a cloth, and rude massive benches supplied the 
place of chairs. 

In the centre of the upper table were placed two chairs 
more elevated than the rest, for the master and mistress 
of the family, who presided over the scene of hospitality, 
and from doing so derived their Saxon title of honour, 
which signifies “ the Dividers of Bread.” 1 

To each of these chairs was added a footstool, curiously 
carved and inlaid with ivory, which mark of distinction was 
peculiar to them. One of these seats was at present occu- 
pied by Cedric the Saxon, who, though but in rank a 
thane , 2 or, as the Normans called him, a Franklin, felt, 
at the delay of his evening meal, an irritable impatience 
which might have become an alderman, whether of ancient 
or of modern times. 

It appeared, indeed, from the countenance of this pro- 
file Anglo-Saxon hldford (loaf-keeper), “lord”; and lil&fdige, 
“lady.” See the Century Dictionary. 

~ A class of military freeholders, ranking just below the hereditary 
ancient nobility. After the Conquest a thane corresponded nearly to 
a baron. In the reign of Henry If. the title fell into disuse, 


32 


1 VAN HOE 


prietor, that he was of a frank, hut hasty and choleric 
temper. He was not above the middle stature, but broad- 
shouldered, long-armed, and powerfully made, like one 
accustomed to endure the fatigue of war or of the chase; 
his face was broad, with large blue eyes, open and frank 
features, fine teeth, and a well-formed head, altogether 
expressive of that sort of good-humour which often lodges 
with a sudden and hasty temper. Pride and jealousy there 
was in his eye, for his life had been spent in asserting rights 
which were constantly liable to invasion; and the prompt, 
fiery, and resolute disposition of the man, had been kept 
constantly upon the alert by the circumstances of his 
situation. Ilis long yellow hair was equally divided on the 
top of his head and upon his brow, and combed down on 
each side to the length of his shoulders; it had but little 
tendency to grey, although Cedric was approaching to his 
sixtieth year. 

His dress was a tunic of forest green, furred at the throat 
and cuffs with what was called minever; a kind of fur 
inferior in quality to ermine, and formed, it is believed, of 
the skin of the grey squirrel. This doublet hung unbut- 
toned over a close dress of scarlet which sate tight to his 
body; he had breeches of the same, but they did not reach 
below the lower part of the thigh, leaving the knee exposed. 
His feet had sandals of the same fashion with the peasants, 
but of finer materials, and secured in the front with golden 
clasps. He had bracelets of gold upon his arms, and a 
broad collar of the same precious metal around his neck. 
About his waist he wore a richly studded belt, in which was 
stuck a short straight two-edged sword, with a sharp point, 
so disposed as to hang almost perpendicularly by his side. 
Behind his seat was hung a scarlet cloth cloak lined with 
fur, and a cap of the same materials richly embroidered, 
which completed the dress of the opulent landholder when 
he chose to go forth. A short boar-spear, with a broad 
and bright steel head, also reclined against the back of his 
chair, which served him, when he walked abroad, for the 
purposes of a staff or of a weapon, as chance might require. 

Several domestics, whose dress held various proportions 
betwixt the richness of their master’s and the coarse and 
simple attire of Gurth the swineherd, watched the looks 
and waited the commands of the Saxon dignitary. Two or 


IV AN 110 E 


33 


three servants of a superior order stood behind their master 
upon the dais; the rest occupied the lower part of the hall. 
Other attendants there were of a different description: two 
or three large and shaggy greyhounds/ such as were then 
employed in hunting the stag and wolf; as many slow- 
hounds 1 2 of a large bony breed, with thick necks, large 
heads, and long ears; and one or two of the smaller dogs, 
now called terriers, which waited with impatience the 
arrival of the supper; but, with the sagacious knowledge of 
physiognomy peculiar to their race, forbore to intrude 
upon the moody silence of their master, apprehensive 
probably of a small white truncheon 3 which lay by Cedric’s 
trencher, for the purpose of repelling the advances of his 
four-legged dependants. One grisly old wolf-dog alone, 
with the liberty of an indulged favourite, had planted 
himself close by the chair of state, and occasionally ven- 
tured to solicit notice by putting his large hairy head upon 
his master’s knee, or pushing his nose into his hand. Even 
he was repelled by the stern command, “ Down, Balder , 4 
down! I am not in the humour for foolery.” 

In fact, Cedric, as we have observed, was in no very 
placid state of mind. The Lady Rowena, who had been 
absent to attend an evening mass at a distant church, had 
but just returned, and was changing her garments, which 
had been wetted by the storm. There were as yet no tidings 
of Gurth and his charge, which should long since have 
been driven home from the forest; and such was the in- 
security of the period, as to render it probable that the 
delay might be explained by some depredation of the out- 
laws with whom the adjacent forest abounded, or by the 
violence of some neighbouring baron, whose consciousness 
of strength made him equally negligent of the laws of 
property. The matter was of consequence, for great part 
of the domestic wealth of the Saxon proprietors consisted 
in numerous herds of swine, especially in forest-land, where 
those animals easily found their food. 

Besides these subjects of anxiety, the Saxon thane was 
impatient for the presence of his favourite clown Wamba, 


1 Note Scott’s fondness for introducing dogs into his novels and 
poems. ( Lady of the Lake, Antiquary, Woodstock, and elsewhere.) 

2 Sleuth-hounds. 3 A short staff. 

4 The name of the sun-god in Norse mythology. 

3 


34 


IV AN HOE 


whose jests, such as they were, served for a sort of seasoning 
to his evening meal, and to the deep draughts of ale and 
wine with which he was in the habit of accompanying it. 
Add to all this, Cedric had fasted since noon, and his usual 
supper hour was long past, a cause of irritation common to 
country squires, both in ancient and modern times. His 
displeasure was expressed in broken sentences, partly 
muttered to himself, partly addressed to the domestics who 
stood around; and particularly to his cupbearer, who 
offered him from time to time, as a sedative, n silver goblet 
filled with wine — “ Why tarries the Lady Kowena ? ” 

“ She is but changing her head-gear/ 5 replied a female 
attendant, with as much confidence as the favourite lady’s- 
maid usually answers the master of a modern family; “ you 
would not wish her to sit down to the banquet in her hood 
and kirtle? 1 and no lady within the shire can be quicker 
in arraying herself than my mistress.” 

This undeniable argument produced a sort of acquies- 
cent umph! on the part of the Saxon, with the addition, 
“ I wish her devotion may choose fair weather for the next 
visit to St. John’s Ivirk 2 ; — but what, in the name of ten 
devils,” continued he, turning to the cupbearer, and raising 
his voice as if happy to have found a channel into which he 
might divert his indignation without fear or control — 
“ what, in the nafrie of ten devils, keeps Gurth so long 
a-field? I suppose we shall have an evil account of the 
herd; he was wont to be a faithful and cautious drudge, 
and I have destined him for something better; perchance 
I might even have made him one of my warders.” * 

Oswald the cupbearer modestly suggested, “ that it was 
scarce an hour since the tolling of the curfew 3 ; ” an ill- 

* The original has Gnichts, by which the Saxons seem to have 
designated a class of military attendants, sometimes free, sometimes 
bondsmen, but always ranking above an ordinary domestic, whether 
in the royal household or in those of the aldermen and thanes. But 
the term cnicht, now spelt knight, having been received into the 
English language as equivalent to the Norman word chevalier, I 
have avoided using it in its more ancient sense, to prevent confusion. 

L. T. [Scott.] 

1 A garment of varying form ; here used in the sense of cloak. 

2 Church. 

3 William the Conqueror instituted a law requiring fires to be cov- 
ered ( couvre-feu ) and lights extinguished upon the ringing of a bell 
at nightfall. It was extremely unpopular. 


IV AN 110 E 


35 


chosen apology, since it turned upon a topic so harsh to 
Saxon ears. 

“ The foul fiend / 7 exclaimed Cedric, “ take the curfew- 
hell, and the tyrannical bastard by whom it was devised, 
and the heartless slave who names it with a Saxon tongue 
to a Saxon ear! The curfew ! 77 he added, pausing, “ ay, 
the curfew; which compels true men to extinguish their 
lights, that thieves and robbers may work their deeds in 
darkness! — Ay, the curfew; — Reginald Front-de-Boeuf and 
Philip de Malvoisin know the use of the curfew as well as 
William the Bastard himself, or e 7 er a Norman adventurer 
that fought at Hastings. I shall hear, I guess, that my 
property has been swept off to save from starving the hun- 
gry banditti whom they cannot support hut by theft and 
robbery. My faithful slave is murdered, arid my goods 
are taken for a prey — and Wamha — where is Wamba? Said 
not some one he had gone forth with Gurth ? 77 

Oswald replied in the affirmative. 

“ Ay? why, this is better and better! he is carried off too, 
the Saxon fool, to serve the Norman lord. Fools are we 
all indeed that serve them, and fitter subjects for their 
scorn and laughter than if we were horn with but half our 
wits. But I will be avenged , 77 he added, starting from his 
chair in impatience at the supposed injury, and catching 
hold of his boar-spear; “ I will go with' my complaint to 
the great council; I have friends, I have followers — man to 
man will I appeal the Norman to the lists; let him come in 
his plate 1 and his mail, and all that can render cowardice 
bold; I have sent such a javelin as this through a stronger 
fence than three of their war shields! — Haply they think 
me old; but they shall find, alone and childless as I am, the 
blood of Hereward is in the veins of Cedric. — Ah, Wilfred, 
Wilfred ! 77 he exclaimed in a lower tone, “ couldst thou 
have ruled thine unreasonable passion, thy father had not 
been left in his age like the solitary oak that throws out its 
shattered and unprotected branches against the full sweep 
of the tempest ! 77 The reflection seemed to conjure into 
sadness his irritated feelings. Replacing his javelin, he 
resumed his seat, bent his looks downward, and appeared to 
be absorbed in melancholy reflection. 

From his musing, Cedric was suddenly awakened by the 

1 Plate armour. 


3G 


/ VAN HOE 


blast of a horn, which was replied to by the clamorous yells 
and barking of all the dogs in the hall, and some twenty 
or thirty which were quartered in other parts of the build- 
ing. It cost some exercise of the white truncheon, well 
seconded by the exertions of the domestics, to silence this 
canine clamour. 

“ To the gate, knaves! ” said the Saxon, hastily, as soon 
as the tumult was so much appeased that the dependants 
could hear his voice. “ See what tidings that horn tells 
us of — to announce, I ween , 1 some hersliip * and robbery 
which has been done upon my lands.” 

Returning in less than three minutes, a warder an- 
nounced, “ that the Prior Aymer of Jorvaulx, and the 
good knight Brian de Bois-Guilbert, commander of the 
valiant and venerable order of Knights Templars, with a 
small retinue, requested hospitality and lodging for the 
night, being on their way to a tournament which was to be 
held not far from Asliby-de-la-Zouche, on the second day 
from the present.” 

“ Aymer, the Prior Aymer? Brian de Bois-Guilbert? ” 
— muttered Cedric; “ Normans both; — but Norman or 
Saxon, the hospitality of Rotl^erwood must not be im- 
peached; they are welcome, since they have chosen to halt 
— more welcome would they have been to have ridden 
further on their way — but it were unworthy to murmur 
for a night’s lodging and a night’s food; in the quality of 
guests, at least, even Normans must suppress their inso- 
lence. — Go, Hundebert,” he added, to a sort of major- 
domo 2 who stood behind him with a white wand; “ take 
six of the attendants, and introduce the strangers to the 
guests’ lodging. Look after their horses and mules, and 
see their train lack nothing. Let them have change of 
vestments if they require it, and fire, and water to wash, 
and wine and ale; and bid the cooks add what they hastily 
can to our evening meal; and let it be put on the board 
when those strangers are ready to share it. Say to them, 
Hundebert, that Cedric would himself bid them welcome, 
but he is under a vow never to step more than three steps 
from the dais of his own hall to meet any who shares 
not the blood of Saxon royalty. Begone! see them carefully 

* Pillage. [Scott.] 1 Imagine. 

2 Steward ; the white wand was his badge of office. 


IV AN IIO E 


37 


tended; let them not say in their pride, the Saxon churl 
has shown at once his poverty and his avarice.” 

The major-domo departed with several attendants, to 
execute his master’s commands. “ The Prior Aymer! ” 
repeated Cedric, looking to Oswald, “the brother, if I 
mistake not, of Giles de Mauleverer, now lord of Middle- 
ham ? ” 

Oswald made a respectful sign of assent. “ His brother 
sits in the seat, and usurps the patrimony, of a better race, 
the race of Ulfgar of Middleham; but what Norman lord 
doth not the same? This Prior is, they say, a free and 
jovial priest, who loves the wine-cup and the bugle-horn 
better than bell and hook 1 : Good; let him come, he shall 
be welcome. How named ye the Templar?” 

“ Brian de Bois-Guilbert.” 

“ Bois-Guilbert,” said Cedric, still in the musing, half- 
arguing tone, which the habit of living among dependants 
had accustomed him to employ, and which resembled a 
man who talks to himself rather than to those around him 
— “Bois-Guilbert? that name has been spread wide both 
for good and evil. They say he is valiant as the bravest 
of his order; but stained with their usual vices, pride, arro- 
gance, cruelty, and voluptuousness; a hard-hearted man, 
who knows neither fear of earth nor awe of heaven. So say 
the few warriors who have returned from Palestine. — Well; 
it is but for one night; he shall be welcome too. — Oswald, 
broach the oldest wine-cask; place the best mead , 2 the 
mightiest ale, the richest morat, the most sparkling cider, 
the most odoriferous pigments, upon the board; fill the 
largest horns * — Templars and Abbots love good wines and 
good measure. — Elgitha, let thy Lady Rowena know we 
shall not this night expect her in the hall, unless such be 
her especial pleasure.” 

“ But it will be her especial pleasure,” answered Elgitha, 
with great readiness, “ for she is ever desirous to hear the 
latest news from Palestine.” 

* These were drinks used by the Saxons, as we arc informed by Mr. 
Turner [History of the Anglo-Saxons, 1805]: Morat was made of 
honey flavoured with the juice of mulberries; Pigment was a sweet 
and rich liquor, composed of wine highly spiced, and sweetened also 
with honey; the other liquors need no explanation. L. T. [Scott.] 

1 A symbolical expression for the services of the church. 

2 A fermented liquor, in which honey was the chief ingredient. 


38 


IV AN HOE 


Cedric darted at the forward damsel a glance of hasty 
resentment; but Rowena, and whatever belonged to her, 
were privileged and secure from his anger, lie only re- 
plied, “ Silence, maiden; thy tongue outruns thy discretion. 
Say my message to thy mistress, and let her do her pleasure. 
Here, at least, the descendant of Alfred 1 still reigns a prin- 
cess.” Elgitlya left the apartment. 

“ Palestine” repeated the Saxon; “Palestine! how many 
ears are turned to the tales which dissolute crusaders, or 
hypocritical pilgrims, bring from that fatal land! I too 
might ask — I too might enquire — I too might listen with a 
beating heart to fables which the wily strollers devise to 
cheat us into hospitality — but no — the son who has dis- 
obeyed me is no longer mine; nor will I concern myself 
more for his fate than for that of the most worthless among 
the millions that ever shaped the cross on their shoulder, 
rushed into excess and blood-guiltiness, and called it an 
accomplishment of the will of God.” 

lie knit his brows, and fixed his eyes for an instant on 
the ground; as he raised them, the folding doors at the 
bottom of the hall were cast wide, and, preceded by the 
major-domo with his wand, and four domestics bearing 
blazing torches, the guests of the evening entered the 
apartment. 

1 The famous King of the West Saxons (871-901). 

[Compare Cedric with other fiery old people in Scott’s novels, such 
as Sir Geoffrey in Peveril of the Peak, Baron Bradwardine in Waver- 
ley, Lady Bellenden in Old Mortality, and Sir Henry Lee in Wood- 
stock. Notice how his talk is designed to heighten the reader’s inter- 
est in the coming chapter.] 


CHAPTER IV 


With sheep and shaggy goats the porkers bled, 

And the proud steer was on the marble spread; 

With fire prepared, they deal the morsels round, 

Wine rosy bright the brimming goblets crown’d. 

• • • • • • • 

Disposed apart, Ulysses shares the treat; 

A trivet table and ignobler seat, 

The Prince assigns 

Odyssey , Book 21. 

The Prior Aymer had taken the opportunity afforded 
him, of changing his riding robe for one of yet more costly 
materials, over which he wore a cope 1 curiously embroid- 
ered. Besides the massive golden signet ring, which 
marked his ecclesiastical dignity, his fingers, though con- 
trary to the canon , 2 were loaded with precious gems; his 
sandals were of the finest leather which was imported from 
Spain; his beard trimmed to as small dimensions as his 
order would possibly permit, and his shaven crown con- 
cealed by a scarlet cap richly embroidered. 

The appearance of the Knight Templar was also 
changed; and, though less studiously bedecked with orna- 
ment, his dress was as rich, and his appearance far more 
commanding, than that of his. companion. He had ex- 
changed his shirt of mail for an under tunic of dark purple 
silk, garnished with furs, over which flowed his long robe 
of spotless white, in ample folds. The eight-pointed cross 
of his order was cut on the shoulder of his mantle in black 
velvet. The high cap no longer invested his brows, which 
were only shaded by short and thick curled hair of a raven 
blackness, corresponding to his unusually swart complex- 
ion. Nothing could be more gracefully majestic than his 
step and manner, had they not been marked by a predom- 

1 A cloak worn by the clergy, reaching from the shoulders nearly 
to the feet. 

2 The rules of the church, or of a religious order. 


40 


IVANHOE 


inant air of haughtiness, easily acquired by the exercise of 
unresisted authority. 

These two dignified persons were followed by their 
respective attendants, and at a more humble distance by 
their guide, whose figure had nothing more remarkable 
than it derived from the usual weeds of a pilgrim. A cloak 
or mantle of coarse black serge enveloped his whole body. 
It was in shape something like the cloak of a modern 
hussar, having similar flaps for covering the arms, and was 
called a Sclaveyn , or Sclavonian. 1 Coarse sandals, bound 
with thongs, on his bare feet; a broad and shadowy hat, 
with cockle-shells 2 stitched on its brim, and a long staff 
shod with iron, to the upper end of which was attached a 
branch of palm, completed the Palmer’s attire. He fol- 
lowed modestly the last of the train which entered the hall, 
and, observing that the lower table scarce afforded room 
sufficient for the domestics of Cedric and the retinue of 
his guests, he withdrew to a settle placed beside and almost 
under one of the large chimneys, and seemed to employ 
himself in drying his garments, until the retreat of some 
one should make room at the board, or the hospitality of 
the steward should supply him with refreshments in the 
place he had chosen apart. 

Cedric rose to receive his guests with an air of dignified 
hospitality, and, descending from the dais, or elevated part 
of his hall, made three steps towards them, and then 
awaited their approach. 

“ I grieve,” he said, “ reverend Prior, that my vow binds 
me to advance no farther upon this floor of my fathers, 
even to receive such guests as you, and this valiant Knight 
of the Holy Temple. But my steward has expounded to 
you the cause of my seeming discourtesy. Let me also pray, 
that you will excuse my speaking to you in my native lan- 
guage, and that you will reply in the same if your knowl- 
edge of it permits; if not, I sufficiently understand Norman 
to follow your meaning.” 

“Vows,” said the Abbot, “must be unloosed, worthy 
Franklin, or permit me rather to say, worthy Thane, 
though the title is antiquated. Vows are the knots which 

1 Like those worn by Slavonians or Russians. 

2 A sea-shell worn as a badge of a pilgrim to the Holy Land. See 
Hamlet, iv, 5, 25. 


IVANIIOE 


41 


tie us to Heaven — they are the cords which bind the sacri- 
fice to the horns of the altar, 1 — and are therefore, — as I said 
before, — to be unloosened and discharged, unless our holy 
Mother Church shall pronounce the contrary. And respect- 
ing language, I willingly hold communication in that 
spoken by my respected grandmother, Hilda of Middleham, 
who died in odour 2 of sanctity, little short, if we may 
presume to say so, of her glorious namesake, the blessed 
Saint Hilda of Whitby , 3 God be gracious to her soul! ” 

When the Prior had ceased what he meant as a concilia- 
tory harangue, his companion said briefly and emphatically, 
“ I speak ever French, the language of King Richard and 
his nobles; but I understand English sufficiently to com- 
municate with the natives of the country.” 

Cedric darted at the speaker one of those hasty and 
impatient glances which comparisons between the two 
rival nations seldom failed to call forth; but, recollecting 
the duties of hospitality, he suppressed further show of 
resentment, and, motioning with his hand, caused his 
guests to assume two seats a little lower than his own, but 
placed close beside him, and gave a signal that the evening 
meal should he placed upon the board. 

While the attendants hastened to obey Cedric’s com- 
mands, his eye distinguished Gurth the swineherd, who, 
with his companion Wamba, had just entered the hall. 
“ Send these loitering knaves up hither,” said the Saxon, 
impatiently. And when the culprits came before the dais, 
— “How comes it, villains! that you have loitered abroad 
so late as this? Hast thou brought home thy charge, sir- 
rah 4 Gurth, or hast thou left them to robbers and 
marauders? ” 

“ The herd is safe, so please ye,” said Gurth. 

“ But it does not please me, thou knave,” said Cedric, 
“ that I should be made to suppose otherwise for two hours, 
and sit here devising vengeance against my neighbours for 
wrongs they have not done me. I tell thee, shackles and 
the prison-house shall punish the next offence of this* 
kind.” 

1 Psalms cxviii. 27. 2 With a reputation for sanctity. • 

3 A famous English abbess (614-680), who founded the monastery 
of Whitby, on the coast of Yorkshire, in 658. 

4 A contemptuous (sometimes jocose) term for “sir” or “fellow.” 


42 


IVANIIOE 


Gurth, knowing his master’s irritable temper, attempted 
no exculpation; but the Jester, who could presume upon 
Cedric’s tolerance, by virtue of his privileges as a fool, 
replied for them both: “In troth, uncle 1 Cedric, you are 
neither wise nor reasonable to-night.” 

“ How, sir? ” said his master; “ you shall to the porter’s 
lodge, and taste of the discipline there, if you give your 
foolery such license.” 

“First let your wisdom tell me,” said Wamba, “is it 
just and reasonable to punish one person for the fault of 
another? ” 

“ Certainly not, fool,” answered Cedric. 

“ Then why should you shackle poor Gurth, uncle, for 
the fault of his dog Fangs? for I dare be sworn we lost 
not a minute by the way, when we had got our herd to- 
gether, which Fangs did not manage until we heard the 
vesper-bell.” 

“ Then hang up Fangs,” said Cedric, turning hastily 
towards the swineherd, “ if the fault is his, and get thee 
another dog.” 

“ Under favour, uncle, ^ said the Jester, “ that were still 
somewhat on the bow-hand 2 of fair justice; for it xvas no 
fault of Fangs that he was lame and could not gather the 
herd, but the fault of those that struck off two of his fore- 
claws, an operation for which, if the poor fellow had been 
consulted, he would scarce have given his voice.” 

“ And who dared to lame an animal which belonged to 
my bondsman?” said the Saxon, kindling in wrath. 

“ Marry, that did old Hubert,” said Wamba, “ Sir Philip 
de Mai voi sin’s keeper of the chase. He caught Fangs 
strolling in the forest, and said he chased the deer contrary 
to his master’s right, as warden of the walk.” 3 

“ The foul fiend take Malvoisin,” answered the Saxon, 
“ and his keeper both! I will teach them that the wood was 
disforested 4 in terms of the great Forest Charter . 4 But 


1 A familiar title of address, often used by jesters. Compare the 
Fool’s use of “ nuncle ” in King Lear. 

2 On the left hand; the wrong side. 

3 Guardian of a hunting district in a royal forest. 

4 Freed from forest laws; thrown open. The Great Charter to 
which reference is made was not drawn until 1215, some twenty years 
after the time of Ivanlioe. 


1VANH0E 


43 


enough of this. Go to, knave, go to thy place — and thou, 
Gurth, get thee another dog, and should the keeper dare to 
touch it, I will mar his archery; the curse of a coward on 
my head, if I strike not off the forefinger of his right hand! 
— he shall draw bowstring no more. — I crave your pardon, 
my worthy guests. I am beset here with neighbours that 
match your infidels, Sir Knight, in Holy Land. But your 
homely fare is before you; feed, and let welcome make 
amends for hard fare.” 

The feast, however, which was spread upon the hoard, 
needed no apologies from the lord of the mansion. Swine’s 
flesh, dressed in several modes, appeared on the lower part 
of the hoard, as also that of fowls, deer, goats, and hares, 
and various kinds of fish, together with huge loaves and 
cakes of bread, and sundry confections made of fruits and 
honey. The smaller sorts of wild-fowl, of which there was 
abundance, were not served up in platters, hut brought in 
upon small wooden spits or broaches, and offered by the 
pages and domestics who bore them, to each guest in suc- 
cession, who cut from them such a portion as he pleased. 
Beside each person of rank w T as placed a goblet of silver; 
the lower hoard was accommodated with large drinking- 
horns. 

When the repast w r as about to commence, the major- 
domo, or steward, suddenly raising his wand, said aloud, — 
“ Forbear! — Place for the Lady Rowena.” A side-door at 
the upper end of the hall now opened behind the banquet 
table, and Rowena, followed by four female attendants, 
entered the apartment. Cedric, though surprised, and 
perhaps not altogether agreeably so, at his ward appearing 
in public on this occasion, hastened to meet her, and to 
conduct her, with respectful ceremony, to the elevated 
seat at his own right hand, appropriated to the lady of the 
mansion. All stood up to receive her; and, replying to 
their courtesy by a mute gesture of salutation, she moved 
gracefully forward to assume her place at the board. Ere 
she had time to do so, the Templar whispered to the Prior, 
“ I shall wear no collar of gold of yours at the tournament. 
The Chian wine is your own.” 

“ Said I not so? ” answered the Prior; “ but check your 
raptures, the Franklin observes you.” 

Unheeding this remonstrance, and accustomed only to 


44 


IV AN 110 E 


act upon the immediate impulse of his own wishes, Brian 
de Bois-Gluilbert kept his eyes riveted on the Saxon beauty, 
more striking perhaps to his imagination, because differing 
widely from those of the Eastern sultanas. 

Formed in the best proportions of her sex-, Rowena was 
tall in stature, yet not so much so as to attract observation 
on account of superior height. Her complexion was ex- 
quisitely fair, but the noble cast of her head and features 
prevented the insipidity which sometimes attaches to fair 
beauties. Her clear blue eye, which sate enshrined 
beneath a graceful eyebrow of brown sufficiently marked 
to give expression to the forehead, seemed capable to kindle 
as well as melt, to command as well as to beseech. If mild- 
ness were the more natural expression of such a combina- 
tion of features, it was plain that, in the present instance, 
the exercise of ‘habitual superiority, and the reception of 
general homage, had given to the Saxon lady a loftier 
character, which mingled with and qualified that bestowed 
by nature. Her profuse hair, of a colour betwixt brown 
and flaxen, was arranged in a fanciful and graceful manner 
in numerous ringlets, to form which art had probably aided 
nature. These locks were braided with gems, and, being 
worn at full length, intimated the noble birth and free- 
born condition of the maiden. A golden chain, to which 
was attached a small reliquary 1 of the same metal, hung 
round her neck. She wore bracelets on her arms, which 
were bare. Her dress was an under-gown and kirtle 2 of 
pale sea-green silk, over which hung a long loose robe, 
which reached to the ground, having very wide sleeves, 
which came down, however, very little below the elbow. 
This robe was crimson, and manufactured out of the very 
finest wool. A veil of silk, interwoven with gold, was 
attached to the upper part of it, which could be, at the 
wearer’s pleasure, either drawn over the face and bosom 
after the Spanish fashion, or disposed as a sort of drapery 
round the .shoulders. 

When Rowena perceived the Knight Templar’s eyes 
bent on her with an ardour that, compared with the dark 
caverns under which they moved, gave them the effect of 
lighted charcoal, she drew with dignity the veil around her 

1 A small casket for holding relics. 

2 Here used to denote a close-fitting gown. 


IVANIIOE 


45 


face, as an intimation that the determined freedom of his 
glance was disagreeable. Cedric saw the motion and its 
cause. “ Sir Templar,” said he, “ the cheeks of our Saxon 
maidens have seen too little of the sun to enable them to 
hear the fixed glance of a crusader.” 

“ If I have offended,” replied Sir Brian, “ I crave your 
pardon, — that is, I crave the Lady Rowena’s pardon, — for 
my humility will carry me no lower.” 

“ The Lady Rowena,” said the Prior, “ has punished us 
all, in chastising the boldness of my friend. Let me hope 
she will he less cruel to the splendid train which are to 
meet at the tournament.” 

“ Our going thither,” said Cedric, “ is uncertain. I love 
not these vanities, which were unknown to my fathers 
when England was free.” 

“ Let us hope, nevertheless,” said the Prior, “ our com- 
pany may determine you to travel thitherward; when the 
roads are so unsafe, the escort of Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert 
is not to be despised.” 

“ Sir Prior,” answered the Saxon, “ wheresoever I have 
travelled in this land, I have hitherto found myself, with 
the assistance of my good sword and faithful followers, in 
no respect needful of other aid. At present, if we indeed 
journey to Ashby-de-la-Zouche, we do so with my noble 
neighbour and countryman Athelstane of Coningsburgh , 1 
and with such a train as would set outlaws and feudal 
enemies at defiance. — I drink to you, Sir Prior, in this 
cup of wine, which I trust your taste will approve, and I 
thank you for your courtesy. Should you he so rigid in 
adhering to monastic rule,” he added, “ as to prefer your 
acid preparation of milk, I hope you will not strain courtesy 
to do me reason.” 

“ Nay,” said the Priest, laughing, “ it is only in our 
abbey that we confine ourselves to the lac clulce 2 or the lac 
acidum 2 either. Conversing with the world, we use the 
world’s fashions, and therefore I answer your pledge in 
this honest wine, and leave the weaker liquor to my lay- 
brother.” 

“ And I,” said the Templar, filling his goblet, “ drink 

1 A castle in the West Riding of Yorkshire, the ruins of which are 
still standing. See Scott’s note to Chapter xli. 

2 Respectively: sweet milk; sour milk. 


46 


IV AN HOE 


wassail 1 to the fair Rowena; for since her namesake 2 intro- 
duced the word into England, has never been one more 
worthy of such a tribute. By my faith, I could pardon the 
unhappy Vortigern , 2 had he half the cause that we now 
witness, for making shipwreck of his honour and his 
kingdom.” 

“ I will spare your courtesy, Sir Knight,” said Rowena 
with dignity, and without unveiling herself; “ or rather I 
will tax it so far as to require of you the latest news from 
Palestine, a theme more agreeable to our English ears than 
the compliments which your French breeding teaches.” 

“ I have little of importance to say, lady,” answered Sir 
Brian de Bois-Guilbert, “ excepting the confirmed tidings 
of a truce with Saladin.” 3 

He was interrupted by Wamba, who had taken his appro- 
priated seat upon a chair, the back of which was decorated 
with two ass’s ears, and which was placed about two steps 
behind that of his master, who, from time to time, supplied 
him with victuals from his own trencher 4 ; a favour, how- 
ever, which the Jester shared with the favourite dogs, of 
whom, as we have already noticed, there were several in 
attendance. Here sat Wamba, with a small table before 
him, his heels tucked up against the bar of the chair, his 
cheeks sucked up so as to make his jaws resemble a pair of 
nut-crackers, and his eyes half-shut, yet watching with 
alertness every opportunity to exercise his licensed foolery. 

“ These truces with the infidels,” he exclaimed, without 

1 The Saxon formula, ivaes had , in drinking toasts, meaning, “ To 
your health! ” 

2 Rowena was the name of the legendary daughter of Hengist, and 
wife of the British chief Vortigern. The latter is said to have invited 
the Saxons to Britain to aid the Britons against the Piets. The inci- 
dent to which Scott makes allusion may be found in the Century 
Dictionary , under the word “wassail,” quoted from the old historian 
Verstegan. Ireland, the literary forger, published a play, Vortigern 
and Rowena, in 1706, which he ascribed to Shakespeare. ' 

3 The famous sultan of Egypt and Syria (1137-1193). lie endeav- 
oured to drive the Christians from Palestine, defeating them near 
Tiberias in 1187, and capturing Jerusalem. These events led to the 
Third Crusade (see previous note). Richard forced Saladin to a three 
years’ truce in 1192, shortly before his own return to Europe, and 
Saladin died at Damascus the following March. He is a leading 
figure in Scott’s Talisman. As the events narrated in Ivanhoe are 
supposed to occur in 1194, a slight anachronism is evident. 

4 Plate or dish. 


IVANHOE 


47 


caring how suddenly he interrupted the stately Templar, 
“ make an old man of me! ” 

“Go to, knave, how so?” said Cedric, his features pre- 
pared to receive favourably the expected jest. 

“ Because,” answered Wamba, “ I remember three of 
them in my day, each of which was to endure for the course 
of fifty years; so that, by computation, 1 must be at least 
a hundred and fifty years old.” 

“ I will warrant you against dying of old age, however,” 
said the Templar, who now recognised his friend of the 
forest; “ I will assure you from all deaths but a violent one, 
if you give such directions to wayfarers, as you did this 
night to the Prior and me.” 

“ How, sirrah! ” said Cedric, “ misdirect travellers? We 
must have you wliipt; you are at least as much rogue as 
fool.” 

“ I pray thee, uncle,” answered the Jester, “ let my 
folly, for once, protect my roguery. I did but make a mis- 
take between my right hand and my left; and he might 
have pardoned a greater, who took a fool for his counsellor 
and guide.” 

Conversation was here interrupted by the entrance of the 
porter’s page, who announced that there was a stranger at 
the gate, imploring admittance and hospitality. 

“ Admit him,” said Cedric, “ be he who or what he may; 
— a night like that which roars without, compels even wild 
animals to herd with tame, and to seek the protection of 
man, their mortal foe, rather than perish by the elements. 
Let his wants be ministered to with all care — look to it, 
Oswald.” 

And the steward left the banqueting hall to see the com- 
mands of his patron obeyed. 

[Note the opportunity, of which Scott here avails himself, to de- 
scribe again the personal appearance of two of his leading characters. 
Does the delay in Rowena’s entrance add to its effectiveness ? Can 
you give a clear account, from memory, of her features and dress ? 
What is gained by having the entrance of a stranger announced at 
the very end of the chapter ?] 


CHAPTER V 


Hath not a Jew eyes ? Hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions, 
senses, affections, passions ? Fed with the same food, hurt with the 
same weapons, subject to the same diseases, healed by the same 
means, warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer, as a 
Christian is ? 

Merchant of Venice. 

Oswald, returning, whispered into the ear of his master, 
“-It is a Jew, who calls himself Isaac of York 1 ; is it fit I 
should marshall him into the hall? ” 

“ Let Gurth do thine office, Oswald,” said Wamba with 
his usual effrontery; “ the swineherd will be a fit usher to 
the Jew.” 

“ St. Mary,” said the Abbot, crossing himself, “ an 
unbelieving Jew, and admitted into this presence! ” 

“ A dog Jew,” echoed the Templar, “ to approach a 
defender of the Holy Sepulchre? ” 

“ By my faith,” said Wamba, “ it would seem the 
Templars love the Jews’ inheritance better than they do 
their company.” 

“ Peace, my worthy guests,” said Cedric; “ my hospital- 
ity must not be bounded by your dislikes. If Heaven bore 
with the whole nation of stiff-necked unbelievers for more 
years than a layman can number, we may endure the 
presence of one Jew for a few hours. But I constrain no 
man to converse or to feed with him. — Let him have a 
board and a morsel apart, — unless,” he said smiling, “ these 
turban’d strangers will admit his society.'” 

“Sir Franklin,” answered the Templar, “my Saracen 
slaves are true Moslems , 2 and scorn as much as any Chris- 
tian to hold intercourse with a Jew.” 

1 The ancient capital of Northumbria, and an important town in 
Roman times. In the twelfth century there was a large Jewish 
colony there, many of whom were massacred in March, il90. See 
Norgate, ii. 289. 

2 Mussulmans; the followers of Mohammed. 


IVANHOE 


53 


“ To the Knights Hospitallers/ 5 1 said the Abbot; " I 
have a brother of their order/ 5 

“ I impeach not their fame/ 5 said the Templar; " never- 
theless 55 

“ I think, friend Cedric/ 5 said Wamba, interfering, "that 
had Richard of the Lion’s Heart been wise enough to have 
taken a fool’s advice, he might have staid at home with his 
merry Englishmen, and left the recovery of Jerusalem to 
those same Knights who had most to do with the loss 
of it/ 5 

“ Were there, then, none in the English army,” said the 
Lady Rowena, " whose names are worthy to be mentioned 
with the Knights of the Temple, and of St. John? 55 

"Forgive me, lady,” replied De Bois-Guilbert; "the Eng- 
lish monarch did, indeed, bring to Palestine a host of gal- 
lant warriors, second only to those whose breasts have been 
the unceasing bulwark of that blessed land.” 

"Second to none / 5 said the Pilgrim, who had stood 
near enough to hear, and had listened to this conversation 
with marked impatience. All turned toward the spot 
from whence this unexpected asseveration was heard. " I 
say,” repeated the Pilgrim in a firm and strong voice, "that 
the English chivalry were second to none who ever drew 
sword in defence of the Holy Land. I say besides, for I 
saw it, that King Richard himself, and five of his knights, 
held a tournament after the taking of St. John-de-Acre, 1 2 
as challengers against all comers. I say that, on that day, 
each knight ran three courses, and cast to the ground three 
antagonists. I add, that seven of these assailants were 
Knights of the Temple — and Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert 
well knows the truth of what I tell you.” 

It is impossible for language to describe the bitter scowl 
of rage which rendered yet darker the swarthy countenance 
of the Templar. In the extremity of his resentment and 

1 The order of the Hospitallers of St. John of Jerusalem, a body of 
military monks organized in the twelfth century, and taking their 
name from an earlier community which had founded a hospital and 
church in Jerusalem. Later, from their occupation of the islands of 
Rhodes and Malta, they were known as Knights of Rhodes and 
Knights of Malta. The order is still in existence. 

2 Aecho, or Acre, a seaport in Palestine taken by the Crusaders in 
1191, and afterward occupied by the Knights of St. John, who called 
it St. Jean de Acre, 


54 


1 VAN] 10 E 


confusion, his quivering fingers griped towards the handle 
of his sword, and perhaps only withdrew, from the con- 
sciousness that no act of violence could be safely executed 
in that place and presence. Cedric, whose feelings were 
all of a right onward and simple kind, and were seldom 
occupied by more than one object at once, omitted, in the 
joyous glee with which he heard of the glory of his country- 
men, to remark the angry confusion of his guest; “ I would 
give thee this golden bracelet, Pilgrim,” he said, “ couldst 
thou tell me the names of those knights who upheld so 
gallantly the renown of merry England.*” 

“ That will I do blithely,” replied the Pilgrim, “ and 
without guerdon 1 ; my oath, for a time, prohibits me from 
touching gold.” 

“ 1 will wear the bracelet for you, if you will, friend 
Palmer,” said Warnba. 

“ The first in honour as in arms, in renown as in place,” 
said the Pilgrim, “ was the brave Bichard, King of Eng- 
land.” 

“ I forgive him,” said Cedric; “ I forgive him his descent 
from the tyrant Duke William.” 

“ The Earl of Leicester 2 was the second,” continued 
the Pilgrim; “ Sir Thomas Multon 3 of Gilsland was the 
third.” 

“ Of Saxon descent, he at least,” said Cedric with 
exultation. 

“ Sir Foulk Doilly the fourth,” proceeded the Pilgrim. 

“ Saxon also, at least by the mother’s side,” continued 
Cedric, who listened with the utmost eagerness, and forgot, 
in part at least, his hatred to the Normans, in the common 
triumph of the King of England and his islanders. “ And 
who was the fifth? ” he demanded. 

“ The fifth was Sir Edwin Turneliam.” 

“ Genuine Saxon, by the soul of Hengist! ” shouted 
Cedric— 1 “ And the sixth? ” he continued with eagerness — 
“ how name you the sixth? ” 

“ The sixth,” said the Palmer, after a pause, in which he 
seemed to recollect himself, “ was a young knight of lesser 

1 Reward. 

2 Robert de Beaumont (d. 1204), made Earl of Leicester by Richard 
T at Messina in 1.191, and a distinguished Crusader. 

8 See Scott’s Talisman, 


/ VAN 1I0E 


55 


renown and lower rank, assumed into that honourable 
company, less to aid their enterprise than to make up their 
number — his name dwells not in my memory . 77 

“ Sir Palmer , 77 said Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert scornfully, 
“ this assumed forgetfulness, after so much has been re- 
membered, comes too late to serve your purpose. I will 
myself tell the name of the knight before whose lance 
fortune and my horse’s fault occasioned my falling — it was 
the Knight of Ivanhoe; nor was there one of the six that, 
for his years, had more renown in arms. — Yet this will I say, 
and loudly — that were he in England, and durst repeat, in 
this week’s tournament, the challenge of St. John-de-Acre, 
I, mounted and armed as I now am, would give him every 
advantage of weapons, and abide the result . 77 

“ Your challenge would soon be answered,” replied the 
Palmer, “ were your antagonist near you. As the matter 
is, disturb not the peaceful hall with vaunts of the issue 
of the conflict which you well know cannot take place. 
If Ivanhoe ever returns from Palestine, I will be his surety 
that he meets you.” 

“ A goodly security ! 77 said the Knight Templar; “ and 
what do you proffer as a pledge? 77 

“ This reliquary,” said the Palmer, taking a small ivory 
box from his bosom, and crossing himself, “ containing a 
portion of the true cross, brought from the Monastery of 
Mount Carmel.” 1 

The Prior of Jorvaulx crossed himself and repeated a 
pater noster , 2 in which all devoutly joined, excepting the 
Jew, the Mahomedans, and the Templar; the latter of 
whom, without vailing his bonnet , 3 or testifying any 
reverence for the alleged sanctity of the relic, took from 
his neck a gold chain, which he flung on the board, saying 
— "Let Prior Aymer hold my pledge and that of this name- 
less vagrant, in token that when the Knight of Ivanhoe 
comes within the four seas of Britain, he underlies the 
challenge of Brian de Bois-Guilbert, which, if he answer 

1 Mt. Carmel in Palestine, the scene of many Old Testament events, 
was from the earliest Christian times the abode of hermits. A mon- 
astery was founded there in the twelfth century, and in 1207 the 
order of Carmelite monks was instituted. 

2 The Lord’s Prayer, the Latin version of which begins with the 
words Pater noster (Our Father). 

3 Without doffing his cap. 


56 


IVANHOE 


not, I will proclaim him as a coward on the walls of every 
Temple Court 1 in Europe.” 

“ It will not need,” said the Lady Rowena, breaking 
silence: “ my voice shall be heard, if no other in this hall 
is raised in behalf of the absent Ivanhoe. I affirm he will 
meet fairly every honourable challenge. Could my weak 
warrant add security to the inestimable pledge of this 
holy pilgrim, I would pledge name and fame that Ivanhoe 
gives this proud knight the meeting he desires.” 

A crowd of conflicting emotions seemed to have occu- 
pied Cedric, and kept him silent during this discussion. 
Gratified pride, resentment, embarrassment, chased each 
other over his broad and open brow, like the shadow of 
clouds drifting over a harvest-field; while his attendants, 
on whom the name of the sixth knight seemed to produce 
an effect almost electrical, hung in suspense upon their 
master’s looks. But when Rowena spoke, the sound of 
her voice seemed to startle him from his silence. 

“ Lady,” said Cedric, “ this beseems not; were further 
pledge necessary, I myself, offendei, and justly offended, 
as I am, would yet gage my honour for the honour of 
Ivanhoe. But the wager of battle is complete, even accord- 
ing to the fantastic fashions of Norman chivalry. — Is it not, 
L ather Aymer ? ” 

“ It is,” replied the Prior; “ and the blessed relic and 
rich chain will I bestow safely in the treasury of our con- 
vent, until the decision of this warlike challenge.” 

Having thus spoken, he crossed himself again and again, 
and after many genuflections 2 and muttered prayers, he 
delivered the reliquary to Brother Ambrose, his attendant 
monk, while he himself swept up with less ceremony, but 
perhaps with no less internal satisfaction, the golden chain, 
and bestowed it in a pouch lined with perfumed leather, 
which opened under his arm. “ And now, Sir Cedric,” he 
said, “ my ears are chiming vespers with the strength of 
your good wine — permit us another pledge to the welfare 
of the Lady Rowena, and indulge us with liberty to pass 
to our repose.” 

“ By the rood 3 of Bromholme,” said the Saxon, “ you 

1 A description of a Templar Court is to be given in Chapter xxxvii. 

2 The act of bending the knee, in worship. 

3 Cross. 


1 VANUO E 


57 


do but small credit to your fame, Sir Prior! Report speaks 
you a bonny monk, that would hear the matin chime 1 ere 
lie quitted his bowl; and, old as I am, I feared to have 
shame in encountering you. But, by my faith, a Saxon 
boy of twelve, in my time, would not so soon have relin- 
quished his goblet.” 

The Prior had his own reasons, however, for persevering 
in the course of temperance which he had adopted. He 
was not only a professional peacemaker, but from practice 
a hater of all feuds and brawls. It was not altogether from 
a love to his' neighbour, or to himself, or from a mixture 
of both. On the present occasion, he had an instinctive 
apprehension of the fiery temper of the Saxon, and saw 
the danger that the reckless and presumptuous spirit, of 
which his companion had already given so many proofs, 
might at length produce some disagreeable explosion. He 
therefore gently insinuated the incapacity of the native of 
any other country to engage in the genial conflict of the 
bowl with the hardy and strong-headed Saxons; something 
he mentioned, but slightly, about his own holy character, 
and ended by pressing his proposal to depart to repose. 

The grace-cup 2 was accordingly served round, and the 
guests, after making deep obeisance to their landlord and 
to the Lady Rowena, arose and mingled in the hall, while 
the heads of the family, by separate doors, retired with 
their attendants. 

“ LTnbelieving dog,” said the Templar to Isaac the Jew, 
as he passed him in the throng, “ dost thou bend thy course 
to the tournament?” 

“ I do so propose,” replied Isaac, bowing in all humility, 
“ if it please your reverend valour.” 

“ Ay,” said the Knight, “ to gnaw the bowels of our 
nobles with usury, and to gull women and boys with gauds 
and toys — I warrant thee store of shekels 3 in thy Jewish 
scrip.” 

“ Not a shekel, not a silver penny, not a halfling 4 — so 
help me the GocI of Abraham! ” said the Jew, clasping 
his hands; “I go but to seek the assistance of some brethren 

1 The bell for morning prayer. 

2 The parting cnp. 

3 A Jewish silver coin worth about sixty cents. 

4 Half-penny. 


58 


IV AN HOB 


of my tribe to aid me to pay the fine which the Exchequer 
of the Jews * have imposed upon me — Father Jacob be my 
speed! I am an impoverished wretch — the very gaberdine 1 
I wear is borrowed from Beuben of Tadcaster.” 2 

The Templar smiled sourly as he replied, “ Beshrew 3 
thee for a false-hearted liar! ” and passing onward, as if 
disdaining farther conference, he communed with his Mos- 
lem slaves in a language unknown to the bystanders. The 
poor Israelite seemed so staggered by the address of the 
military monk that the Templar had passed on to the 
extremitv of the hall ere he raised his head from the hum- 
ble posture which he had assumed, so far as to be sensible 
of his departure. And when he did look around, it was 
with the astonished air of one at whose feet a thunderbolt 
has just burst, and who hears still the astounding report 
ringing in his ears. 

The Templar and Prior were shortly after marshalled to 
their sleeping apartments by the steward and the cupbearer, 
each attended by two torchbearers and two servants carry- 
ing refreshments, while servants of inferior condition indi- 
cated to their retinue and to the other guests their respec- 
tive places of repose. 

* In those days the Jews were subjected to an Exchequer, specially 
dedicated to that purpose, and which laid them under the most exor- 
bitant impositions. — L. T. [Scott.] 

1 A cloak worn by Jews in the Middle Ages. See The Merchant 
of Venice , i. 3, 113. 

2 A town in the West Riding, ten miles from York. 

3 Curse thee. 


[For prototypes of Isaac of York, read Shakespeare’s Merchant of 
Venice and Marlowe’s Jew of Malta. Can you find other strongly 
drawn Jewish figures in the drama or in fiction ? Note that the 
quarrel between the Templar and the Palmer furnishes a sort of 
“ inciting moment”; i.e., an action which involves and leads to the 
subsequent plot movement. Does Rowena’s loyalty to the reputation 
of Ivanhoe indicate anything as to the relation between these two 
characters ? What interest is added to the story by the fact that the 
Palmer appears obviously in disguise ? What other instances of dis- 
guise can you recall in Scott’s poems and novels ?] 


CHAPTER YI 


To buy his favour I extend this friendship: 

If lie will take it, so; if not, adieu; 

And, for my love, I pray you wrong me not. 

Merchant of Venice. 

As the Palmer, lighted by a domestic with a torch, 
past through the intricate combination of apartments of 
this large and irregular mansion, the cupbearer coming 
behind him whispered in his ear that, if he had no objec- 
tion to a cup of good mead in his apartment, there were 
many domestics in that family who would gladly hear the 
news he had brought from the Ploly Land, and particularly 
that which concerned the Knight of Ivanhoe. Wamba 
presently appeared to urge the same request, observing 
that a cup after midnight was worth three after curfew. 
Without disputing a maxim urged by such grave authority, 
the Palmer thanked them for their courtesy, but observed 
that he had included in his religious vow an obligation 
never to speak in the kitchen on matters which were pro- 
hibited in the hall. “ That vow,” said Wamba to the cup- 
bearer, “ would scarce suit a serving-man.” 

The cupbearer shrugged up his shoulders in displeasure. 
“ I thought to have lodged him in the solere 1 chamber,” 
said he; “ but since he is so unsocial to Christians, e’en let 
him take the next stall to Isaac the Jew’s. — Anwold,” said 
lie to the torchbearer, “ carry the Pilgrim to the southern 
cell. — I give you good-night,” he added, “ Sir Palmer, with 
small thanks for short courtesy.” 

“ Good-night, and Our Lady’s benison ,” 2 said the 
Palmer, with composure; and his guide moved forward. 

In a small antechamber, into which several doors opened, 
and which was lighted by a small iron lamp, they met a 
second interruption from the waiting-maid of Rowena, 

1 An upper chamber, open to the sun. 
a The Virgin’s blessing. 


60 


1 VANIK) D 


who, saying in a tone of authority that her mistress desired 
to speak with the Palmer, took the torch from the hand of 
Anwold, and, bidding him await her return, made a sign 
to the Palmer to follow. Apparently he did not think it 
proper to decline this invitation as he had done the former; 
for, though his gesture indicated some surprise at the sum- 
mons, he obeyed it without answer or remonstrance. 

A short passage, and an ascent of seven steps, each of 
which was composed of a solid beam of oak, led him to the 
apartment 1 of the Lady Kowena, the rude magnificence of 
which corresponded to the respect which was paid to her 
by the lord of the mansion. The walls were covered with 
embroidered hangings, on which different-coloured silks, 
interwoven with gold and silver threads, had been em- 
ployed with all the art of which the age was capable, to 
represent the sports of hunting and hawking. The bed was 
adorned with the same rich tapestry, and surrounded with 
curtains dyed with purple. The seats had also their stained 
coverings, and one, which was higher than the rest, was 
accommodated with a footstool of ivory, curiously carved. 

No fewer than four silver candelabras, holding great 
waxen torches, served to illuminate this apartment.- Yet 
let not modern beauty envy the magnificence of a Saxon 
princess. The walls of the apartment were so ill finished 
and so full of crevices that the rich hangings shook in the 
night blast, and, in despite of a sort of screen intended 
to protect them from the wind, the flame of the torches 
streamed sideways into the air, like the unfurled pennon 
of a chieftain. Magnificence there was, with some rude 
attempt at taste; but of comfort there was little, and, being 
unknown, it was unmissed. 

The Lady Rowena, with three of her attendants standing 
at her back, and arranging her hair ere she lay down to rest, 
was seated in the sort of throne already mentioned, and 
looked as if born to exact general homage. The Pilgrim 
acknowledged her claim to it by a low genuflection. 

“ Pise, Palmer,” said she graciously. “ The defender 
of the absent has a right to favourable reception from all 
who value truth, and honour manhood.” She then said to 
her train, “ Retire, excepting only Elgitha; I would speak 
with this holy Pilgrim.” 

1 See Wright’s Domestic Manners and Sentiments. 


IV AN HOE 


61 


The maidens, without leaving the apartment, retired 
to its further extremity, and sat down on a small bench 
against the wall, where they remained mute as statues, 
though at such a distance that their whispers could not 
have interrupted the conversation of their mistress. 

“ Pilgrim," said the lady, after a moment’s pause, during 
which she seemed uncertain how to address him, “ you this 
night mentioned a name — I mean,” she said, with a degree 
of effort, “ the name of Ivanhoe, in the halls where by 
nature and kindred it should have sounded most accep- 
tably; and yet, such is the perverse course of fate, that of 
many whose hearts must have throbbed at the sound, I, 
only, dare ask you where, and in what condition, you left 
him of whom you spoke? — We heard that, having re- 
mained in Palestine on account of his impaired health, 
after the departure of the English army, lie had experi- 
enced the persecution of the French faction, to whom the 
Templars are known to he attached.” 

“ I know little of the Knight of Ivanhoe,” answered 
the Palmer, with a troubled voice. “ I would I knew him 
better, since you, lady, are interested in his fate. He hath, 
I believe, surmounted the persecution of his enemies in 
Palestine, and is on the eve of returning to England, where 
you, lady, must know better than I what is his chance of 
happiness.” 

The Lady Eowena sighed deeply, and asked more par- 
ticularly when the Knight of Ivanhoe might be expected 
in his native country, and whether he would not be exposed 
to great dangers by the road. On the first point, the 
Palmer professed ignorance; on the second, he said that the 
voyage might he safely made by the way of Venice and 
Genoa, and from thence through France to England. 
“ Ivanhoe,” he said, “ was so well acquainted with the 
language and manners of the French, that there was no 
fear of his incurring any hazard during that part of his 
travels.” 

“ Would to God,” said the Lady Eowena, “ he were here 
safely arrived, and able to hear arms in the approaching 
tourney, in which the chivalry of this land are expected to 
display their address and valour. Should Athelstane of 
Coningsburgh obtain the prize, Ivanhoe is like to hear 
evil tidings when he reaches England. — How looked he, 


IV AN II OE 


62 

stranger, when yon last saw him? Had disease laid her 
hand heavy upon his strength and comeliness? ” 

“ He was darker/’ said the Palmer, “ and thinner, than 
when he came from Cyprus 1 in the train of Cceur-de-Lion, 
and care seemed to sit heavy on his brow; hut I approached 
not his presence, because he is unknown to me.” 

“ He will,” said the lady, “ I fear/ find little in his native 
land to clear those clouds from his countenance. Thanks, 
good Pilgrim, for your information concerning the com- 
panion of my childhood. — Maidens,” she said, “ draw near 
— offer the sleeping cup to this holy man, whom I will no 
longer detain from repose.” 

One of the maidens presented a silver cup, containing 
a rich mixture of wine and spice, which Eowena barely put 
to her lips. It was then offered to the Palmer, who, after 
a low obeisance, tasted a few drops. 

“ Accept this alms, friend,” continued the lady, offering 
a piece of gold, “ in acknowledgment of thy painful travail, 
and of the shrines thou hast visited.” 

The Palmer received the boon with another low rev- 
erence, and followed Edwina out of the apartment. 

In the anteroom he found his attendant Anwold, who, 
taking the torch from the hand of the waiting-maid, con- 
ducted him with more haste than ceremony to an exterior 
and ignoble part of the building, where a number of small 
apartments, or rather cells, served for sleeping places to 
the lower order of domestics, and to strangers of mean 
degree. 

“ In which of these sleeps the Jew? ” said the Pilgrim. 

“ The unbelieving dog,” answered Anwold, “ kennels 
in the cell next your holiness. — St. Dunstan, how it must 
he scraped and cleansed ere it he again fit for a Christian! ” 

“And where sleeps Cfurth the swineherd?” said the 
stranger. 

“ Gurth,” replied the bondsman, “ sleeps in the cell on 
your right, as the Jew on that to your left; you serve to 
keep the child of circumcision separate from the abomina- 
tion of his tribe. You might have c ecu pied a more hon- 
ourable place had you accepted of Oswald’s invitation.” 

“ It is as well as it is,” said the Palmer; “ the company, 

1 Richard I took the island of Cyprus in 1191, just previous to the 
capture of Acre. 


IV AN HOE 


C3 


even of a Jew, can hardly spread contamination through 
an oaken partition.” 

So saying, he entered the cabin allotted to him, and 
taking the torch from the domestic’s hand, thanked him, 
and wished him good-night. Having shut the door of his 
cell, he placed the torch in a candlestick made of wood, and 
looked around his sleeping apartment, the furniture of 
which was of the most simple kind. It consisted of a rude 
wooden stool, and still ruder hutch or bed-frame, stuffed 
with clean straw, and accommodated with two or three 
sheepskins by way of bed-clothes. 

The Palmer, having extinguished his torch, threw him- 
self, without taking off any part of his clothes, on this 
rude couch, and slept, or at least retained his recumbent 
posture, till the earliest sunbeams found their way through 
the little grated window, which served at once to admit 
both air and light to his uncomfortable cell. He then 
started up, and after repeating his matins, and adjusting 
his dress, he left it, and entered that of Isaac the Jew, lift- 
ing the latch as gently as he could. 

The inmate was lying in troubled slumber upon a couch 
similar to that on which the Palmer himself had passed the 
night. Such parts of his dress as the Jew had laid aside 
on the preceding evening were disposed carefully around 
his person, as if to prevent the hazard of their being carried 
off during his slumbers. There was a trouble on his brow 
amounting almost to rgony. Ilis hands and arms moved 
convulsively, as if struggling with the nightmare; and be- 
sides several ejaculations in Hebrew, the following were dis- 
tinctly heard in the Norman-English, or mixed language of 
the country: “For the sake of the God of Abraham, spare an 
unhappy old man! I am poor, I am penniless — should your 
irons wrench my limbs asunder, I could not gratify you! ” 

The Palmer awaited not the end of the Jew’s vision, 
but stirred him with his pilgrim’s staff. The touch prob- 
ably associated, as is usual, with some of the apprehensions 
excited by his dream; for the old man started up, his grey 
hair standing almost erect upon his head, and huddling 
some part of his garments about him, while he held the 
detached pieces with the tenacious grasp of a falcon, he 
fixed upon the Palmer his keen black eyes, expressive of 
wild surprise and of bodily apprehension. 


64 


IV AN II OE 


“ Fear nothing from me, Isaac/ 7 said the Palmer, “ I 
come as your friend.” 

“ The God of Israel requite you,” said the Jew, greatly 
relieved; “ I dreamed — but, Father Abraham be praised, 
it was but a dream.” Then, colleg^irg himself, he added 
in his usual tone, “And what may it be your pleasure' to 
want at so early an hour with the poor Jew? ” 

“It is to tell you,” said the Palmer, “that if you l£ave 
not this mansion instantly, and travel not with some haste, 
your journey may prove a dangerous one.” 

“ Holy Father! ” said the Jew, “whom could it interest 
to endanger so poor a wretch as I am?,” 

“The purpose you can best guess,” said the Pilgrim; “but 
rely on this, that when the Templar crossed the hall yester- 
night, he spoke to his Mussulman slaves in the Saracen 
language, which I well understand, and charged them this 
morning to watch the journey of the Jew, to seize upon 
him when at a convenient distance from the mansion, and 
to conduct him to the castle of Philip de Malvoisin, or to 
that of Eeginald Front-de-Boeuf.” 

It is impossible to describe the extremity of terror which 
seized upon the Jew at this information, and seemed at once 
to overpower his whole faculties. His arms fell down to his 
sides, and his head drooped on his breast, his knees bent 
under his weight, every nerve and muscle of his frame 
seemed to collapse and lose its energy, and he sunk at the 
foot of the Palmer, not in the fashion of one who inten- 
tionally stoops, kneels, or prostrates himself to excite com- 
passion, but like a man borne down on all sides by the 
pressure of some invisible force, which crushes him to the 
earth without the power of resistance. 

“Holy God of Abraham!” was his first exclamation, 
folding and elevating his wrinkled hands, but without 
raising his grey head from the pavement; “ Oh, holy Moses! 
Oh, blessed Aaron! the dream is not dreamed for nought, 
and the vision cometh not in vain! I feel their irons already 
tear my sinews! I feel the rack pass over my body like the 
saws, and harrows, and axes of iron over the men of Kab- 
bah, 1 and of the cities of the children of Ammon 1 ! ” 

“ Stand up, Isaac, and hearken to me,” said the Palmer, 

1 Rabbah was the chief city of the Ammonites, a heathen people, 
enemies of the children of Israel. 


/ VAN HOE 


65 


who viewed the extremity of his distress with a compassion 
in which contempt was largely mingled; “ yon have cause 
for your terror, considering how your brethren 1 have been 
used, in order to extort from them their hoards, both by 
princes and nobles; but stand up, I say, and I will point 
out to you the means of escape. Leave this mansion 
instantly, while its inmates sleep sound after the last 
night's revel. I will guide you by the secret paths of the 
forest, known as well to me as to any forester that ranges 
it, and I will not leave you till you are under safe conduct 
of some chief or baron going to the tournament, whose 
good-will you have probably the means of securing." 

As the ears of Isaac received the hopes of escape which 
this speech intimated, he began gradually, and inch by 
inch, as it were, to raise himself up from the ground, until 
he fairly rested upon his knees, throwing back his long 
grey hair and beard, and fixing his keen black eyes upon 
the Palmer's face, with a look expressive at once of hope 
and fear, not unmingled with suspicion. But when he 
heard the concluding. part of the sentence, his original 
terror appeared to revive in full force, and he dropt once 
more on his face, exclaiming, “/ possess the means of 
securing good-will! alas! there is but one road to the 
favour of a Christian, and how can the poor Jew find it, 
whom extortions have already reduced to the misery of 
Lazarus 2 ? " Then, as if suspicion had overpowered his 
other feelings, he suddenly exclaimed, “ For the love of 
God, young man, betray me not — for the sake of the Great 
Father wdio made us all, Jew as well as Gentile, Israelite 
and Ishmaelite 3 — do me no treason! I have not means to 
secure the good-will of a Christian beggar, were he rating 
it at a single penny." As he spoke these last wrnrds, he 
raised himself, and grasped the Palmer's mantle with a 
look of the most earnest entreaty. The pilgrim extricated 
himself, as if there were contamination in the touch. 

“ Wert thou loaded with all the wealth of thy tribe," he 
said, “ what interest have I to injure thee? — In this dress I 

1 This refers to the persecution of the Jews in York, previously 
mentioned in the notes. 

2 Luke xvi. 20. 

3 The descendants of Ishmael, the son of Hagai-; regarded by the 
modern Arabs as their ancestors. 

5 


GG 


IV AN HOE 


am vowed to poverty, nor do I change it for aught save a 
horse and a coat of mail. Yet think not that I care for thy 
company, or propose myself advantage by it; remain here if 
thou wilt — Cedric the Saxon may protect thee." 

“ Alas! ” said the Jew, “ he will not let me travel in his 
train — Saxon or Norman will be equally ashamed of the 
poor Israelite; and to travel by myself through the domains 
of Philip de Malvoisin and Reginald Front-de-Bceuf— 
Good youth, I will go with you! — Let us haste — let us gird 
up our loins — let us flee! — Here is thy staff, why wilt thou 
tarry? ” 

“ I tarry not,” said the Pilgrim, giving way to the 
urgency of his companion; “but I must secure the means 
of leaving this place — follow me.” 

He led the way to the adjoining cell, which, as the 
reader is apprised, was occupied by Gurth the swineherd. 

■ — “Arise, Gurth,” said the Pilgrim, “arise quickly. Undo 
the postern gate, and let out the Jew and me.” 

Gurth, whose occupation, though now held so mean, 
gave him as much consequence in Saxon England as that 
of Eumaeus in Ithaca , 1 was offended at the familiar and 
commanding tone assumed by the Palmer. “ The Jew 
leaving Kotherwood,” said he, raising himself on his elbow, 
and looking superciliously at him without quitting his 
pallet, “ and travelling in company with the Palmer to 
boot ” 

“ I should as soon have dreamt,” said Wamba, who en- 
tered the apartment at the instant, “ of his stealing away 
with a gammon of bacon.” 

“ Nevertheless,” said Gurth, again laying down his head 
on the wooden log which served him for a pillow, “ both 
Jew and Gentile must be content to abide the opening of 
the great gate — we suffer no visitors to depart by stealth at 
these unseasonable hours.” 

“Nevertheless,” said the Pilgrim, in a commanding 
tone, “ you will not, I think, refuse me that favour.” 

So saying, he stooped over the bed of the recumbent 
swineherd, and whispered something in his ear in Saxon. 
Gurth started up as if electrified. The Pilgrim, raising 
his finger in an attitude as if to express caution, added, 

1 One of the Ionian islands, the home of Ulysses. Eumseus was 
the latter’s swineherd. 


IV AN HOE 


67 


“ Gurth, beware — thou art wont to be prudent. I say, 
undo the postern — thou shalt know more anon/ 7 

With hasty alacrity Gurth obeyed him, while Wamba 
and the Jew followed, both wondering at the sudden 
change in the swineherd’s demeanour. 

“ My mule, my mule! ” said the Jew, as soon as they 
stood without the postern. 

“ Fetch him his mule,” said the Pilgrim; “ and, hearest 
thou, — let me have another, that I may bear him company 
till he is beyond these parts — I will return it safely to some 
of Cedric’s train at Ashby. And do thou ” — he whispered 
the rest in Gurth’s ear. 

“ Willingly, most willingly shall it be done,” said Gurth, 
and instantly departed to execute the commission. 

“ I wish I knew,” said Wamba, when his comrade’s back 
was turned, “ what you Palmers learn in the Holy Land.” 

“ To say our orisons, 1 fool,” answered the Pilgrim, “ to 
repent our sins, and to mortify ourselves with fastings, 
vigils, and long prayers.” 

“ Something more potent than that,” answered the 
Jester; “ for when would repentance or prayer make Gurth 
do a courtesy, or fasting or vigil persuade him to lend you 
a mule? — I trow you might as well have told his favourite 
black boar of thy vigils and penance, and wouldst have 
gotten as civil an answer.” 

“ Go to,” said the Pilgrim, “ thou art but a Saxon fool.” 

“ Thou sayst well,” said the Jester; “ had I been born 
a Norman, as I think thou art, I would have had luck 
on my side, and been next door to a wise man.” 

At this moment Gurth appeared on the opposite side of 
the moat with the mules. The travellers crossed the ditch 
upon a drawbridge of only two planks’ breadth, the narrow- 
ness of which was matched with the straitness of the pos- 
tern, 2 and with a little wicket 3 in the exterior palisade, 
which gave access to the forest. No sooner had they 
reached the mules, than the Jew, with hasty and trembling 
hands, secured behind the saddle a small bag of blue buck- 
ram, 4 which he took from under his cloak, containing as 
he muttered, “a change of raiment — only a change of 
raiment.” Then getting upon the animal with more 

1 Prayers. 2 Rear gate. 

3 A tiny gate. 4 Coarse linen cloth. 


68 


IV AN IK )E 


alacrity and haste than could have been anticipated from 
his years, he lost no time in so disposing of the skirts of 
his gaberdine as to conceal completely from observation the 
burden which he had thus deposited en croupe J 

The Pilgrim mounted with more deliberation, reaching, 
as he departed, his hand to Gurth, who kissed it with the 
utmost possible veneration. The swineherd stood gazing 
after the travellers until they were lost under the boughs 
of the forest path, when he was disturbed from his reverie 
by the voice of Wamba. 

“ Knowest thou/’ said the Jester, “ my good friend 
Gurth, that thou art strangely courteous and most un- 
wontedly pious on this summer morning? I would I were 
a black Prior or a barefoot Palmer, to avail myself of thy 
unwonted zeal and courtesy- — certes , 2 I would make more 
out of it than a kiss of the hand.” 

“ Thou art no fool thus far, Wamba,” answered Gurth, 
“ though thou arguest from appearances, and the wisest 
of us can do no more. But it is time to look after my 
charge.” 

So saying, he turned back to the mansion, attended by 
the J ester. 

Meanwhile the travellers continued to press on their 
journey with a dispatch which argued the extremity of the 
Jew’s fears, since persons at his age are seldom fond of 
rapid motion. The Palmer, to whom every path and out- 
let in the wood appeared to be familiar, led the way 
through the most devious paths, and more than once ex- 
cited anew the suspicion of the Israelite, that he intended 
to betray him into some ambuscade of his enemies. 

His doubts might have been indeed pardoned; for, except 
perhaps the flying fish, there was no race existing on the 
earth, in the air, or the waters, who were the object of such 
an unintermitting, general, and relentless persecution as 
the Jews of this period. Upon the slightest and most un- 
reasonable pretences, as well as upon accusations the most 
absurd and groundless, their persons and property were 
exposed to every turn of popular fury; for Norman, Saxon, 
Dane, and Briton, however adverse these races were to each 
other, contended which should look with greatest detesta- 
tion upon a people whom it was accounted a point of 
1 Behind the saddle. 2 Certainly. 


IVANHOE 


69 


religion to hate, to revile, to despise, to plunder, and to 
persecute. The kings of the Norman race, and the in- 
dependent nobles, who followed their example in all acts of 
tyranny, maintained against this devoted people a perse- 
cution of a more regular, calculated, and self-interested 
kind. It is a well-known story of King John, that he con- 
fined a wealthy Jew in one of the royal castles, and daily 
caused one of his teeth to he torn out, until, when the jaw 
of the unhappy Israelite was half disfurnished, he con- 
sented to pay a large sum, which it was the tyrant’s object 
to extort from him. The little ready money which was in 
the country was chiefly in possesion of this persecuted 
people, and the nobility hesitated not to follow the example 
of their sovereign, in wringing it from them by every 
species of oppression, and even personal torture. Yet the 
passive courage inspired by the love of gain induced the 
Jews to dare the various evils to which they were subjected, 
in consideration of the immense profits which they were 
enabled to realize in a country naturally so wealthy as 
England. In spite of every kind of discouragement, and 
even of the special court of taxations already mentioned, 
called the Jews’ Exchequer, erected for the very purpose of 
despoiling and distressing them, the Jews increased, multi- 
plied, and accumulated huge sums, which they transferred 
from one hand to another by means of bills of exchange 
— an invention for which commerce is said to be indebted 
to them, and which enabled them to transfer their wealth 
from land to land, that when threatened with oppression 
in one country, their treasure might be secured in another. 

The obstinacy and avarice of the Jews, being thus in a 
measure placed in opposition to the fanaticism and tyranny 
of those under whom they lived, seemed to increase in pro- 
portion to the persecution with which they were visited; 
and the immense wealth they usually acquired in com- 
merce, while it frequently placed them in danger, was at 
other times used to extend their influence, and to secure to 
them a certain degree of protection. On these terms they 
lived; and their character, influenced accordingly, was 
watchful, suspicious, and timid — yet obstinate, uncomply- 
ing, and skilful in evading the dangers to which they were 
exposed. 

When the travellers had pushed on at a rapid rate 


70 


IVANIIOE 


through man}' devious paths, the Palmer at length broke 
silence. 

“ That large decayed oak,” he said, “ marks the boun- 
daries over which Front-de-Bceuf claims authority — we are 
long since far from those of Malvoisin. There is now no 
fear of pursuit.” 

“ May the wheels of their chariots he taken off,” said the 
Jew, “ like those of the host of Pharaoh, 1 that they may 
drive heavily! — But leave me not, good Pilgrim. Think 
but of that fierce and savage Templar, with his Saracen 
slaves — they will regard neither territory, nor manor, nor 
lordship.” 

“ Our road,” said the Palmer, “ should here separate; 
for it beseems not men of my character and thine to travel 
together longer than needs must he. Besides, what succour 
couldst thou have from me, a peaceful Pilgrim, against two 
armed heathens? ” 

“ 0 good youth,” answered the Jew, “ thou canst defend 
me, and I know thou wouldst. Poor as I am, I will requite 
it — not with money, for money, so help me my Father 
Abraham, I have none — hut ” 

“ Money and recompense,” said the Palmer, interrupting 
him, “ I have already said I require not of thee. Guide 
thee I can; and, it may he, even in some sort defend thee, 
since to protect a Jew against a Saracen can scarce he 
accounted unworthy of a Christian. Therefore, Jew, I 
will see thee safe under some fitting escort. We are now 
.not far from the town of Sheffield, where thou mayest 
easily find many of thy tribe with whom to take refuge.” 

“ The blessing of Jacob he upon thee, good youth!” 
said the Jew; “ in Sheffield I can harbour with my kinsman 
Zareth, and find some means of travelling forth with 
safety.” 

“ Be it so,” said the Palmer; “ at Sheffield then we part, 
and half an hour’s riding will bring us in sight of that 
town.” 

The half-hour was spent in perfect silence on both parts; 
the Pilgrim perhaps disdaining to address the Jew, except 
in case of absolute necessity, and the Jew not presuming to 
force a conversation with a person whose journey to the 
Holy Sepulchre gave a sort of sanctity to his character. 

1 Exodus xiv. 25. 


IVANHOE 


n 


They paused on the top of a gently rising bank, and the 
Pilgrim, pointing to tlm town of Sheffield, which lay 
beneath them, repeated the words, “ Here, then, we part.” 

“ Not till you have had the poor Jew’s thanks,” said 
Isaac; “ for I presume not to ask you to go with me to my 
kinsman Zareth’s, who might aid me with some means of 
repaying your good offices.” 

“ I have already said,” answered the Pilgrim, “ that I 
desire no recompense. If, among the huge list of thy 
debtors, thou wilt, for m}^ sake, spare the gyves 1 and the 
dungeon to some unhappy Christian who stands in thy 
danger, 2 I shall hold this morning’s service to thee well 
bestowed.” 

“ Stay, stay,” said the Jew, laying hold of his garment; 
“ something would I do more than this, something for 
thyself. — God knows the Jew is poor — yes, Isaac is the 
beggar of his tribe — but forgive me should I guess what 
thou most lackest at this moment.” 

“ If thou w r ert to guess truly,” said the Palmer, “ it is 
what thou canst not supply, wert thou as wealthy as thou 
sayst thou art poor.” 

“ As I say? ” echoed the Jew; “ 0! believe it, I say but 
the truth; I am a plundered, indebted, distressed man. 
Hard hands have wrung from me my goods, my money, 
my ships, and all that I possessed. Yet I can tell thee 
what thou lackest, and, it may be, supply it too. Thy 
wish even now is for a horse and armour.” 

The Palmer started, and turned suddenly towards the 
Jew: — “What fiend prompted that guess?” said he, 
hastily. 

“No matter,” said the Jew, smiling, “ so that it be a true 
one — and, as I can guess thy want, so I can supply it.” 

“ But consider,” said the Palmer, “ my character, my 
dress, my vow.” 

“I know you Christians,” replied the Jew, “and that 
the noblest of you will take the staff and sandal in super- 
stitious penance, and walk afoot to visit the graves of dead 
men.” 

“ Blaspheme not, Jew,” said the Pilgrim, sternly. 

“ Forgive me,” said the J ew; “ I spoke rashly. But 
there dropt words from you last night and this morning. 

1 Fetters. 2 Power. See Merchant of Venice , iv, 1, 180. 


72 


IV AN II OE 


that, like sparks from flint, showed the metal within; and 
in the bosom of that Palmer’s gown is hidden a knight’s 
chain and spurs of gold. They glanced as you stooped 
over my bed in the morning.” 

The Pilgrim could not forbear smiling. “Were thy 
garments searched by as curious an eye, Isaac,” said he, 
“ what discoveries might not be made ? ” 

“No more of that,” said the Jew, changing colour; and 
drawing forth his writing materials in haste, as if to stop 
the conversation, he began to write upon a piece of paper 
which he supported on the top of his yellow cap, without 
dismounting from his mule. When he had finished, he 
delivered the scroll, which was in the Hebrew character, 
to the Pilgrim, saying, “ In the town of Leicester 1 all men 
know the rich Jew, Kirjath Jairam of Lombardy 2 ; give 
him this scroll — he hath on sale six Milan 2 harnesses, the 
worst would suit a crowned head; ten goodly steeds, the 
worst might mount a king, were he to do battle for his 
throne. Of these he will give thee thy choice, with every 
thing else that can furnish thee forth for the tournament: 
when it is over, thou wilt return them safely — unless thou 
shouldst have wherewith to pay their value to the owner.” 

“ But, Isaac,” said the Pilgrim, smiling, “ dost thou 
know that in these sports the arms and steed of the knight 
who is unhorsed are forfeit to his victor? Now I may he 
unfortunate, and so lose what I cannot replace or repay.” 

The Jew looked somewhat astounded at this possibility; 
but collecting his courage, he replied hastily: “ No — no — 
no — it is impossible — I will not think so. The blessing of 
Our Father will be upon thee. Thy lance will be powerful 
as the rod of Moses.” 3 

So saying, he was turning his mule’s head away, when 
the Palmer, in his turn, took hold of his gaberdine. “ Nay, 
but Isaac, thou knowest not all the risk. The steed may 
be slain, the armour injured — for I will spare neither 
horse nor man. Besides, those of thy tribe give nothing 
for nothing; something there must be paid for their use.” 

1 The capital of Leicestershire, and the home, at this time, of a 
large number of Jews. 

2 Milan, the chief city of Lombardy, in Italy, was famed for its 
armour. 

3 Exodus iv. 


IVANIIOE 


73 


The Jew twisted himself in the saddle, like a man in a 
fit of the colic; hut his better feelings predominated over 
those which were most familiar to him. “ I care not,” he 
said, “ I care not — let me go. If there is damage, it will 
cost you nothing — if there is usage money, Kirjath Jairam 
will forgive it for the sake of his kinsman Isaac. Fare 
thee well! — Yet hark thee, good youth,” said he, turning 
about, “ thrust thyself not too forward into this vain hurly- 
burly — I speak not for endangering the steed, and coat of 
armour, but for the sake of thine own life and limbs.” 

“ Gramercy 1 for thy caution,” said the Palmer, again 
smiling; “ I will use thy courtesy frankly, and it will go 
hard with me but I will requite it.” 

They parted, and took different roads for the town of 
Sheffield. 

1 Thanks. 

[Note how the close of this chapter, as that of the preceding one, is 
designed to stimulate the reader’s interest in the coining tournament. 
Review the first six chapters, all of which centre in Rotherwood, and 
see if you have the characters and the plot (as thus far outlined) clearly 
in mind. Notice carefully whether the main characters develop as 
the story progresses, or are left stationary as regards mental and 
moral growth, as is usual with minor characters in fiction. In a 
romance of adventure, is there much to be gained by insisting upon 
this character-development ?] 


CHAPTER YII 


Knights, with a long retinue of their squires, 

In gaudy liveries march and quaint attires; 

One laced the helm, another held the lance, 

A third the shining buckler did advance. 

The courser paw’d the ground with restless feet, 

And snorting foam’d and champ’d the golden bit. 

The smiths and armourers on palfreys ride, 

Files in their hands, and hammers at their side ; 

And nails for loosen’d spears, and thongs for shields provide. 

The yeomen guard the streets in seemly bands; 

And clowns come crowding on, with cudgels in their hands. 

Palamon and Arcite. 

The condition of the English nation was at this time 
sufficiently miserable. King Richard was absent a pris- 
oner/ and in 'the power of the perfidious and cruel Duke 
of Austria . 1 Even the very place of his captivity was un- 
certain, and his fate hut very imperfectly known to the 
generality of his subjects, who were, in the meantime, a 
prey to every species of subaltern 2 oppression. 

Prince John , 3 in league with Philip of France , 4 Cceur- 
de-Lion’s mortal enemy, was using every species of in- 
fluence with the Duke of Austria to prolong the captivity 
of his brother Richard, to whom he stood indebted for so 
many favours. In the meantime, he was strengthening 
his own faction in the kingdom, of which he proposed to 
dispute the succession, in case of the King’s death, with 
the legitimate heir, Arthur Duke of Brittany , 5 son of 
Geoffrey Plantagenet , 5 the elder brother of John. This 

1 Richard I, while attempting to make his way across Europe in 
disguise, was captured at a little village near Vienna, and became 
the prisoner of the Duke of Austria. The captivity lasted from 
December, 1192, to January, 1194. See previous note, Chap. i. 

a Oppression at the hands of the king’s subordinates. 

3 See Table of English Kings. 

4 Philip Augustus (reigned 1180-1223). 

6 See Table of English Kings, and Shakespeare’s King John. 


IV AN HOB 


75 


usurpation, it is well known, he afterwards effected. His 
own character being light, profligate, and perfidious, John 
easily attached to his person and faction, not only all who 
had reason to dread the resentment of Kichard for criminal 
proceedings during his absence, but also the numerous 
class of “ lawless resolutes ” 1 whom the crusades had 
turned back on their country, accomplished in the vices of 
the East, impoverished in substance, and hardened in char- 
acter, and who placed their hopes of harvest in civil com- 
motion. 

To these causes of public distress and apprehension 
must be added the multitude of outlaws who, driven to 
despair by the oppression of the feudal nobility, and the 
severe exercise of the forest laws, banded together in large 
gangs, and, keeping possession of the forests and the wastes, 
set at defiance the justice and magistracy of the country. 
The nobles themselves, each fortified within his own castle, 
and playing the petty sovereign over his own dominions, 
were the leaders of bands scarce less lawless and oppressive 
than those of the avowed depredators. To maintain these 
retainers, and to support the extravagance and magnifi- 
cence which their pride induced them to affect, the nobility 
borrowed sums of money from the Jews at the most 
usurious interest, which gnawed into their estates like 
consuming cankers, scarce to be cured unless when cir- 
cumstances gave them an opportunity of getting free, by 
exercising upon their creditors some act of unprincipled 
violence. 

Under the various burdens imposed by this unhappy 
state of affairs, the people of England suffered deeply for 
the present, and had yet more dreadful cause to fear for the 
future. To augment their misery, a contagious disorder 
of a dangerous nature spread through the land; and, ren- 
dered more virulent by the uncleanness, the indifferent 
food, and the wretched lodging of the lower classes, swept 
off many whose fate the survivors were tempted to envy, 
as exempting them from the evils which were to come. 

Yet amid these accumulated distresses, the poor as well 
as the rich, the vulgar as well as the noble, in the event of 
a tournament, which was the grand spectacle of that age, 
felt as much interested as the half-starved citizen of 

1 Hamlet, i, 1, 98. 


I VAN HOE 


70 


Madrid, who has not a real 1 left to buy provisions for his 
family, feels in the issue of a bull-feast. Neither duty nor 
infirmity could keep youth or age from such exhibitions. 
The Passage of Arms, as it was called, which was to take 
place at Ashby, in the county of Leicester, as champions 
of the first renown were to take the field in the presence 
of Prince John himself, who was expected to grace the lists, 
had attracted universal attention, and an immense con- 
fluence of persons of all ranks hastened upon the appointed 
morning to the place of combat. 

The scene was singularly romantic . 2 On the verge of a 
wood, which approached to within a mile of the town of 
Ashby, was an extensive meadow, of the finest and most 
beautiful green turf, surrounded on one side by the forest, 
and fringed on the other by straggling oak-trees, some of 
which had grown to an immense size. The ground, as if 
fashioned on purpose for the martial display which was 
intended, sloped gradually down on all sides to a level 
bottom, which was enclosed for the lists with strong pali- 
sades, forming a space of a quarter of a mile in length, 
and about half as broad. The form of the enclosure was 
an oblong square, save that the corners were considerably 
rounded off, in order to afford more convenience for the 
spectators. The openings for the entry of the combatants 
were at the northern and southern extremities of the lists, 
accessible by strong wooden gates, each wide enough to 
admit two horsemen riding abreast. At each of these 
portals were stationed two heralds, attended by six trum- 
pets, as many pursuivants , 3 and a strong body of men-at- 
arms for maintaining order, and ascertaining the quality of 
the knights who proposed to engage in this martial game. 

On a platform beyond the southern entrance, formed 
by a natural elevation of the ground, were pitched five 
magnificent pavilions , 4 adorned with pennons 5 of russet 
and black, the chosen colours of the five knights chal- 

1 A Spanish silver coin of small value. 

2 For a clear conception of what the writers of Scott’s generation 
understood by “romantic,” see Phelps’s Beginnings of the English 
Romantic Movement. 

3 Attendants of the heralds, or messengers. In later times the pur- 
suivants were the lowest order of heraldic officers. See “ Herald’s 
College ” in the Century Dictionary. 

4 Tents. 5 Small banners, pointed at the end. 


IVANIIOE 


77 


lengers. The cords of the tents were of the same colour. 
Before each pavilion was suspended the shield of the knight 
by whom it was occupied, and beside it stood his squire, 
quaintly disguised as a salvage 1 or silvan man, or in some 
other fantastic dress, according to the taste of his master, 
and the character he was pleased to assume during the 
game.' 2 * The central pavilion, as the place of honour, had 
been assigned to Brian de Bois-Guilbert, whose renown in 
all games of chivalry, no less than his connexions with the 
knights who had undertaken this Passage of Arms, had 
occasioned him to be eagerly received into the company 
of the challengers, and even adopted as their chief and 
leader, though he had so recently joined them. On one 
side of his tent were pitched those of Reginald Front-de- 
Bceuf and Richard de Malvoisin, and on the other was the 
pavilion of Hugh de Grantmesnil, a noble baron in the 
vicinity, whose ancestor had been Lord High Steward of 
England in the time of the Conqueror and his son William 
Rufus . 2 Ralph de Yipont, a knight of St. John of Jerusa- 
lem, who had some ancient possessions at a place called 
Heather, near Ashby-de-la-Zouche, occupied the fifth 
pavilion. From the entrance into the lists, a gently sloping 
passage, ten yards in breadth, led up to the platform on 
which the tents were pitched. It was strongly secured by 
a palisade on each side, as was the esplanade 3 in front of 
the pavilions, and the whole was guarded by men-at-arms. 

The northern access to the lists terminated in a similar 
entrance of thirty feet in breadth, at the extremity of 
which was a large enclosed space for such knights as might 
be disposed to enter the lists with the challengers, behind 
which were placed tents containing refreshments of every 
kind for their accommodation, with armourers, farriers, 
and other attendants, in readiness to give their services 
wherever they might be necessary. 

The exterior of the lists was in part occupied by tem- 
porary galleries, spread with fapestry and carpets, and 
accommodated with cushions for the convenience of those 
ladies and nobles who were expected to attend the tourna- 

* This sort of masquerade is supposed to have occasioned the intro- 
duction of supporters into the science of heraldry. [Scott.] 

1 Man of the woods; savage. 2 See Table of English Kings. 

3 Open space. 


78 


IV AN HOE 


ment. A narrow space, betwixt these galleries and the 
lists, gave accommodation for yeomanry and spectators 
of a better degree than the mere vulgar, and might be 
compared to the pit of a theatre. The promiscuous multi- 
tude arranged themselves upon large banks of turf prepared 
for the purpose, which, aided by the natural elevation of 
the ground, enabled them to overlook the galleries, and 
obtain a fair view into the lists. Besides the accommoda- 
tion which these stations afforded, many hundreds had 
perched themselves on the branches of the trees which sur- 
rounded the meadow; and even the steeple of a country 
church, at some distance, was crowded with spectators. 

It only remains to notice, respecting the general arrange- 
ment, that one gallery in the very centre of the eastern 
side of the lists, and consequently exactly opposite to the 
spot where the shock of the combat was to take place, was 
raised higher than the others, more richly decorated, and 
graced by a sort of throne and canopy, on which the royal 
arms were emblazoned . 1 Squires, pages, and yeomen 2 in 
rich liveries, waited around this place of honour, which 
was designed for Prince John and his attendants. Opposite 
to this royal gallery was another, elevated to the same 
height, on the western side of the lists; and more gaily, 
if less sumptuously decorated, than that destined for the 
Prince himself. A train of pages and of young maidens, 
the most beautiful who could be selected, gaily dressed 
in fancy habits of green and pink, surrounded a throne 
decorated in the same colours. Among pennons and flags 
bearing wounded hearts, burning hearts, bleeding hearts, 
bows and quivers, and all the commonplace emblems of the 
triumphs of Cupid , 3 a blazoned inscription informed the 
spectators that this seat of honour was designed for La 
Boyne de la Beaulte et des Amours. But who was to 
represent the Queen of Beauty and of Love on the present 
occasion no one was prepared to guess. 

Meanwhile, spectators of every description thronged for- 
ward to occupy their respective stations, and not without 
many quarrels concerning those which they were entitled to 

1 Displayed. 

2 Here used in the sense of “retainers.” 

3 The god of Love, in Roman mythology; corresponding to the 
Greek Eros. 


IV AN HOE 


79 


hold. Some of these were settled by the men-at-arms with 
brief ceremony; the shafts of their battle-axes and pum- 
mels of their swords being readily employed as arguments 
to convince the more refractory. Others, which involved 
the rival claims of more elevated persons, were determined 
by the heralds, or by the two marshals of the field, William 
de Wyvil and Stephen de Martival, who, armed at all 
points , 1 rode up and down the lists to enforce and preserve 
good order among the spectators. 

Gradually the galleries became filled with knights and 
nobles, in their robes of peace, whose long and rich-tinted 
mantles were contrasted with the gayer and more splendid 
habits of the ladies, who, in a greater proportion than 
even the. men themselves, thronged to witness a sport 
which one would have thought too bloody and dangerous 
to afford their sex much pleasure. The lower and interior 
space was soon filled by substantial yeomen 2 and burghers, 
and such of the lesser gentry as, from modesty, poverty, 
or dubious title, durst not assume any higher place. It 
was of course amongst these that the most frequent dis- 
putes for precedence occurred. 

“ Dog of an unbeliever,” said an old man, whose thread- 
bare tunic bore witness to his poverty, as his sword, and 
dagger, and golden chain intimated his pretensions to 
rank, — “ whelp of a she- wolf ! darest thou press upon a 
Christian, and a Norman gentleman of the blood of 
Montdidier? ” 

This rough expostulation was addressed to no other 
than our acquaintance Isaac, who, richly and even mag- 
nificently dressed in a gaberdine ornamented with lace and 
lined with fur, was endeavouring to make place in the fore- 
most row beneath the gallery for his daughter, the beauti- 
ful Eebecca, who had joined him at Ashby, and who was 
now hanging on her father’s arm, not a little terrified by 
the popular displeasure which seemed generally excited by 
her parent’s presumption. But Isaac, though we have 
seen him sufficiently timid on other occasions, knew well 
that at present he had nothing to fear. It was not in 
places of general resort, or where their equals were assem- 
bled, that any avaricious or malevolent noble durst offer 

1 A technical phrase meaning “in complete armour.” 

2 Here meaning “ freeholders.” 


80 


IVANIIOE 


him injury. At such meetings the Jews were under the 
protection of 'the general law; and if that proved a weak 
assurance, it usually happened that there were among the 
persons assembled some barons who, for their own inter- 
ested motives, were ready to act as their protectors. On 
the present occasion, Isaac felt more than usually confident, 
being aware that Prince John was even then in the very 
act of negotiating a large loan from the Jews of York, to be 
secured upon certain jewels and lands. Isaac’s own share 
in this transaction was considerable, and he well knew 
that the Prince’s eager desire to bring it to a conclusion 
would ensure him his protection in the dilemma in which 
he stood. 

Emboldened by these considerations, the Jew pursued 
his point, and jostled the Norman Christian, without 
respect either to his descent, quality, or religion. The com- 
plaints of the old man, however, excited the indignation 
of the bystanders. One of these, a stout, well-set yeoman, 
arrayed in Lincoln green , 1 having twelve arrows stuck in 
his belt, with a baldric and badge of silver, and a bow of six 
feet length in his hand, turned short round, and while 
his countenance, which his constant exposure to weather 
had rendered brown as a hazel nut, grew darker with anger, 
he advised the J ew r to remember that all the wealth he had 
acquired by sucking the blood of his miserable victims had 
but swelled him like a bloated spider, which might be over- 
looked while he kept in a corner, but would be crushed if 
it ventured into the light. This intimation, delivered in 
Norman-English with a firm voice and a stern aspect, made 
the Jew shrink back; and he would have probably with- 
drawn himself altogether from a vicinity so dangerous, had 
not the attention of every one been called to the sudden 
entrance of Prince John, who at that moment entered the 
lists, attended by a numerous and gay train, consisting 
partly of laymen, partly of churchmen, as light in their 
dress, and as gay in their demeanour, as their companions. 
Among the latter was the Prior of Jorvaulx, in the most 
gallant trim which a dignitary of the church could venture 
to exhibit. Eur and gold were not spared in his garments; 

1 A famous kind of cloth, originally dyed best at Lincoln. The 
entire description of the yeoman’s appearance should be compared 
with that of Chaucer’s “Yeoman,” Prologue, 101-117. 


IV AN ROE 


81 


and the points of his boots, out-heroding 1 the preposterous 
fashion of the time, turned up so very far as to be attached, ' 
not to his knees merely, but to his very girdle, and effec- 
tually prevented him from putting his foot into the stirrup. 
This, however, was a slight inconvenience to the gallant 
Abbot, who, perhaps even rejoicing in the opportunity to 
display his accomplished horsemanship before so many 
spectators, especially of the fair sex, dispensed with the 
use of these supports to a timid rider. The rest of Prince 
John’s retinue consisted of the favourite leaders of his 
mercenary troops, some marauding barons and profligate 
attendants upon the court, with several Knights Templars 
and Knights of St. John. 

It may be here remarked that the knights of these 
two orders were accounted hostile to King Richard, having 
adopted the side of Philip of France in the long train of 
disputes which took place in Palestine betwixt that mon- 
arch and the lion-hearted King of England . 2 It was the 
well-known consequence of this discord that Richard’s re- 
peated victories had been rendered fruitless, his romantic 
attempts to besiege Jerusalem disappointed, and the fruit 
of all the glory which he had acquired had dwindled into 
an uncertain truce with the Sultan Saladin. With the 
same policy which had dictated the conduct of their breth- 
ren in the Holy Land, the Templars and Hospitallers in 
England and Normandy attached themselves to the faction 
of Prince John, having little reason to desire the return of 
Richard to England, or the succession of Arthur, his 
legitimate heir. For the opposite reason, Prince John 
hated and contemned the few Saxon families of conse- 
quence which subsisted in England, and omitted no oppor- 
tunity of mortifying and affronting them; being conscious 
that his person and pretensions were disliked by them, as 
well as by the greater part of the English commons, who 
feared farther innovation upon their rights and liberties, 
from a sovereign of John’s licentious and tyrannical dis- 
position. 

3 In the mediaeval miracle-plays, Herod was always made to rant 
and storm in a loud voice. Hence Shakespeare ( Hamlet , iii, 2, 16) 
uses the term “ outherod Herod” as meaning “to outdo even the 
model.” 

2 See Scott’s Talisman. 

6 


82 


IV AN IIO E 


Attended by this gallant equipage, himself well mounted, 
and splendidly dressed in crimson and in gold, bearing 
upon his hand a falcon, and having his head covered by 
a rich fur bonnet, adorned with a circle of precious stones, 
from which his long curled hair escaped and overspread 
his shoulders, Prince John, upon a grey and high-mettled 
palfrey, caracoled 1 within the lists at the head of his 
jovial party, laughing loud with his train, and eyeing with 
all the boldness of royal criticism the beauties who adorned 
the lofty galleries. 

Those who remarked in the physiognomy of the Prince 
a dissolute audacity, mingled with extreme haughtiness 
and indifference to the feelings of others, could not yet 
deny to his countenance that sort of comeliness which be- 
longs to an open set of features, well formed by nature, 
modelled by art to the usual rules of courtesy, yet so far 
frank and honest that they seemed as if they disclaimed 
to conceal the natural workings of the soul. Such an 
expression is often mistaken for manly frankness, when in 
truth it arises from the reckless indifference of a libertine 
disposition, conscious of superiority of birth, of wealth, or 
of some other adventitious advantage totally unconnected 
with personal merit. To those who did not think so deeply, 
and they were the greater number by a hundred to one, 
the splendour of Prince John’s rheno , 2 ( i.e ., fur tippet,) 
the richness of his cloak, lined with the most costly sables, 
his maroquin 3 boots and golden spurs, together with the 
grace with which he managed his palfrey, were sufficient 
to merit clamorous applause. 

In his joyous caracole round the lists, the attention of 
the Prince was called by the commotion, not yet subsided, 
which had attended the ambitious movement of Isaac 
towards the higher places of the assembly. The quick eye 
of Prince John instantly recognised the Jew, but was much 
more agreeably attracted by the beautiful daughter of Zion, 
who, terrified by the tumult, clung close to the arm of her 
aged father. 

The figure of Rebecca might indeed have compared with 
the proudest beauties of England, even though it had been 
judged by as shrewd a connoisseur as Prince John. Her 
form was exquisitely symmetrical, and was shown to ad- 

1 Wheeled. 2 Reindeer skin ; hence, any fur. 3 Morocco. 


IVANIIOE 


83 


vantage by a sort of Eastern dress, which she wore accord- 
ing to the fashion of the females of her nation. Her turban 
of yellow silk suited well with the darkness of her complex- 
ion. The brilliancy of her. eyes, the superb arch of her 
eyebrows, her well-formed aquiline nose, her teeth as white 
as pearl, and the profusion of her sable tresses, which, each 
arranged in its own little spiral of twisted curls, fell down 
upon as much of a lovely neck and bosom as a simarre 1 of 
the richest Persian silk, exhibiting flowers in their natural 
colours embossed upon a purple ground, permitted to be 
visible — all these constituted a combination of loveliness 
which yielded not to the most beautiful of the maidens 
who surrounded her. It is true that, of the golden and 
pearl-studded clasps which closed her vest from the throat 
to the waist, the three uppermost were left unfastened on 
account of the heat, which something enlarged the prospect 
to which we allude. A diamond necklace, with pendants 
of inestimable value, were by fhis means also made more 
conspicuous. The feather of an ostrich, fastened in her 
turban by an agraffe 2 set with brilliants, was another dis- 
tinction of the beautiful Jewess, scoffed and sneered at by 
the proud dames who sat above her, but secretly envied by 
those who affected to deride them. 

“ By the bald scalp of Abraliam/ ? said Prince J ohn, 
“ yonder Jewess must be the very model of that perfection 
whose charms drove frantic the wisest king that ever 
lived 3 ! What sayest thou, Prior Aymer? — By the Tem- 
ple 4 of that wise king, which our wiser brother Richard 
proved unable to recover, she is the very Bride of the 
Canticles 3 ! ” 

“ The Rose of Sharon and the Lily of the Valley/’ 5 — 
answered the Prior, in a sort of snuffling tone; “ but your 
Grace must remember she is still but a J ewess.” 

“ Ay! ” added Prince John, without heeding him, “ and 
there is my Mammon 6 of unrighteousness too— the Mar- 

1 A woman’s light, loose robe. 2 Clasp. 

3 The reference is to the heroine of the Song of Solomon, or Book 

of Canticles (Hebrew, “Song of Songs”; Latin, Canticum canti- 
corum ). 

4 The temple of Solomon. 

5 Song of Solomon ii. 1. 

6 A Syriac word used in the New Testament as the personification 
of riches, See Luhe xvi, 9, 


84 


IVANHOE 


quis of Marks/ the Baron of Byzants , 1 contesting for place 
with penniless dogs whose threadbare cloaks have not a 
single cross in their pouches to keep the devil from dancing 
there. By the body of St. Mark, my prince of supplies, 
with his lovely Jewess, shall have a place in the gallery! — 
What is she, Isaac? Thy wife or thy daughter, that East- 
ern houri that thou lockest under thy arm as thou wouldst 
thy treasure-casket? ” 

“ My daughter Rebecca, so please your Grace/’ answered 
Isaac, with a low congee , 2 nothing embarrassed by the 
Prince’s salutation, in which, however, there was at least 
as much mockery as courtesy. 

“ The wiser man thou,” said J ohn, with a peal of 
laughter, in which his gay followers obsequiously joined. 
“ But, daughter or wife, she should be preferred according 
to her beauty and thy merits. — Who sits above there? ” he 
continued, bending his eye on the gallery. “ Saxon churls, 
lolling at their lazy length! — out upon them! — let them 
sit close, and make room for my prince of usurers and his 
lovely daughter. I’ll make the hinds know they must 
share the high places of the synagogue with those whom 
the synagogue properly belongs to.” 

Those who occupied the gallery, to whom this injurious 
and impolite speech was addressed, were the family of 
Cedric the Saxon, with that of his ally and kinsman, Athel- 
stane of Coningsburgh, a personage who, on account of 
his descent from the last Saxon monarchs of England, was 
held in the highest respect by all the Saxon natives of the 
north of England. But with the blood of this ancient 
royal race, many of their infirmities had descended to 
Athelstane. He was comely in countenance, bulky and 
strong in person, and in the flower of his age — yet inani- 
mate in expression, dull-eyed, heavy-browed, inactive and 
sluggish in all his motions, and so slow in resolution, that 
the soubriquet 3 of one of his ancestors was conferred upon 
him, and he was very generally called Athelstane the "Un- 
ready. His friends, and he had many, who, as well as 
Cedric, were passionately attached to him, contended that 
this sluggish temper arose not from want of courage, but 

1 The mark and the byzant were familiar coins of the time. John 
means that Isaac is “as rich as a lord.” 

2 Bow. 


3 Nickname, 


IVANHOE 


85 


from mere want of decision; others alleged that his heredi- 
tary vice of drunkenness had obscured his faculties, never 
of a very acute order, and that the passive courage and 
meek good-nature which remained behind were merely 
the dregs of a character that might have been deserving 
of praise, but of which all the valuable parts had flown off 
in the progress of a long course of brutal debauchery. 

It was to this person, such as we have described him, 
that the Prince addressed his imperious command to make 
place for Isaac and Eebecca. Athelstane, utterly con- 
founded at an order which the manners and feelings of the 
times rendered so injuriously insulting, unwilling to obey, 
yet undetermined how to resist, opposed only the vis in- 
ertice 1 to the will of John; and', without stirring or making 
any motion whatever of obedience, opened his large grey 
eyes, and stared at the Prince with an astonishment which 
had in it something extremely ludicrous. But the im- 
patient John regarded it in no such light. 

“ The Saxon porker/’ he said, “ is either asleep or minds 
me not. — Prick him with your lance, De Bracy,” speaking 
to a knight who rode near him, the leader of a band of Free 
Companions, or Condottieri 2 ; that is, of mercenaries be- 
longing to no particular nation, but attached for the time 
to any prince by whom they were paid. There was a mur- 
mur even among the attendants of Prince John; but De 
Bracy, whose profession freed him from all scruples, ex- 
tended his long lance over the space which separated the 
gallery from the lists, and would have executed the com- 
mands of the Prince before Athelstane the Unready had 
recovered presence of mind sufficient even to draw hack 
his person from the weapon, had not Cedric, as prompt 
as his companion was tardy, unsheathed, with the speed 
of lightning, the short sword which he wore, and at a 
single blow severed the point of the lance from the handle. 
The blood rushed into the countenance of Prince John. 
He swore one of his deepest oaths, and was about to utter 
some threat corresponding in violence, when he was di- 
verted from his purpose, partly by his own attendants, who 
gathered around him conjuring him to he patient, partly 

1 Force of inertia; the resistance of a sluggish mass. 

2 The Italian name for professional soldiers, in the fourteenth and 
fifteenth centuries. 


86 


IVANHOE 


by a general exclamation of the crowd, ottered in loud 
applause of the spirited conduct of Cedric. The Prince 
rolled his eyes in indignation, as if to collect some safe 
and easy victim; and chancing to encounter the firm glance 
of the same archer whom we have already noticed, and 
who seemed to persist in his gesture of applause, in spite 
of the frowning aspect which the Prince bent upon him, 
he demanded his reason for clamouring thus. 

“ I always add my hollo,” said the yeoman, “ when I see 
a good shot, or a gallant blow.” 

“ Sayst thou?” answered the Prince; “then thou canst 
hit the white 1 thyself, I’ll warrant.” 

“ A woodsman’s mark, and at woodsman’s distance, I 
can hit,” answered the yeoman. 

“ And Wat Tyrrel’s mark, 2 at a hundred yards,” said a 
voice from behind, but by whom uttered could not be dis- 
cerned. 

This allusion to the fate of William Rufus, his relative, 
at once incensed and alarmed Prince John. lie satisfied 
himself, however, with commanding the men-at-arms, who 
surrounded the lists, to keep an eye on the braggart, point- 
ing to the yeoman. 

“ By St. Grizzel,” 3 he added, “ we will try his own skill, 
who is so ready to give his voice to the feats of others! ” 

“ 1 shall not fly the trial,” said the yeoman, with the 
composure which marked his whole deportment. 

“ Meanwhile, stand up, ye Saxon churls,” said the fiery 
Prince; “ for, by the light of Heaven, since I have said it, 
the Jew shall have his seat amongst ye! ” 

“ By no means, an it please your Grace! — it is not fit for 
such as we to sit with the rulers of the land,” said the Jew; 
whose ambition for precedence, though it had led him to 
dispute place with the extenuated and impoverished de- 
scendant of the line of Montdidier, by no means stimulated 
him to an intrusion upon the privileges of the wealthy 
Saxons. 

1 The inner circle of thetarget. 

2 Sir Walter Tyrrel is said to have shot King William Rnfus 
(reigned 1087-1100) with an arrow, accidentally, while they were 
hunting. 

3 Patient Grissel, orGriselda, a favourite character among mediaeval 
story-tellers. See Chaucer’s Clerics Tale, 


1VANII0E 


87 


“ Up, infidel dog, when I command you/’ said Prince 
John, “ or I will have thy swarthy hide stript off, and 
tanned for horse-furniture.” 1 

Thus urged, the Jew began to ascend the steep and 
narrow steps which led up to the gallery. 

“ Let me see,” said the Prince, “ who dare stop him,” 
fixing his eye on Cedric, whose attitude intimated his 
intention to hurl the Jew down headlong. 

The catastrophe was prevented by the clown Wamba, 
who, springing betwixt his master and Isaac, and exclaim- 
ing, in answer to the Prince’s defiance, “ Marry, that will 
1! ” opposed to the beard of the Jew a shield of brawn, 2 
which he plucked from beneath his cloak, and with which, 
doubtless, he had furnished himself, lest the tournament 
should have proved longer than his appetite could endure 
abstinence. Finding the abomination of his tribe opposed 
to his very nose, while the Jester, at the same time, flour- 
ished his wooden sword above his head, the Jew recoiled, 
missed his footing, and rolled down the steps, — an excel- 
lent jest to the spectators, who set up a loud laughter, in 
which Prince John and his attendants heartily joined. 

“ Deal me the prize, cousin Prince,” said Wamba; “ I 
have vanquished my foe in fair fight with sword and 
shield,” he added, brandishing the brawn in one hand and 
the wooden sword in the other. 

“Who, and what art thou, noble champion?” said Prince 
John, still laughing. 

“ A fool by right of descent,” answered the Jester; “ I 
am Wamba, the son of Witless, who was the son of Weather- 
brain, who was the son of an Alderman.” 3 

“ Make room for the Jew in front of the lower ring,” 
said Prince John, not unwilling perhaps to seize an apology 
to desist from his original purpose; “to place the van- 
quished beside the victor were false heraldry.” 

“ Knave upon fool were worse,” answered the J ester, 
“ and Jew upon bacon worst of all.” 

“Gramercy! good fellow,” cried Prince John, “thou 
pleasest me. — Here, Isaac, lend me a handful of byzants.” 

As the Jew, stunned by the request, afraid to refuse and 

Accoutrements; housings. 2 Pork. 

8 Anglo-Saxon ealdorman, a chieftain, and later the head magistrate 
of a shire. 


88 


I VAN 110 E 


unwilling to comply, fumbled in the furred bag which 
hung by his girdle, and w r as perhaps endeavouring to ascer- 
tain how few coins might pass for a handful, the Prince 
stooped from his jennet and settled Isaac’s doubts by 
snatching the pouch itself from his side; and flinging to 
Wamba a couple of the gold pieces which it contained, he 
pursued his career round the lists, leaving the Jew to the 
derision of those around him, and himself receiving as 
much applause from the spectators as if he had done some 
honest and honourable action. 

[Can you draw a plan of the lists, from memory of the description 
just given ? Note the points of contrast between the figures of 
Rebecca and Rowena, at their first presentation to the reader.] 


CHAPTER VIII 


At this the challenger with fierce defy 

His trumpet sounds ; the challenged makes reply: 

With clangour rings the field, resounds the vaulted sky. 

Their visors closed, their lances in the rest, 

Or at the helmet pointed or the crest, 

They vanish from the barrier, speed the race, 

And spurring see decrease the middle space. 

Palamon and Arcite. 

list the midst of Prince John’s cavalcade, he suddenly 
stopt, and appealing to the Prior of Jorvaulx, declared 
the principal business of the day had been forgotten. 

“ By my halidom ,” 1 said he, “ we have forgotten, Sir 
Prior, to name the fair Sovereign of Love and of Beauty, 
by whose white hand the palm is to be distributed. For 
my part, I am liberal in my ideas, and I care not if I give 
my vote for the black-eyed Rebecca.” 

“ Holy Virgin,” answered the Prior, turning up his eyes 
in horror, “ a Jewess! — We should deserve to be stoned out 
of the lists; and I am not yet old enough to be a martyr. 
Besides, I swear by my patron saint that she is far inferior 
to the lovely Saxon, Rowena.” 

“ Saxon or Jew,” answered the Prince, “ Saxon or Jew, 
dog or hog, what matters it? I say, name Rebecca, were 
it only to mortify the Saxon churls.” 

A murmur arose even among his own immediate atten- 
dants. 

“ This passes a jest, my lord,” said De Bracy; “ 1T0 
knight here will lay lance in rest 2 if such an insult is 
attempted.” 

“ It is the mere wantonness of insult,” said one of the 
oldest and most important of Prince John’s followers, 

1 Anglo-Saxon haligdom : holiness; sacred honour. 

2 The “rest” was a contrivance for steadying the lance when 
couched for the charge; generally a hook fastened to the cuirass or 
breastplate of the knight. 


90 


IVAN HOE 


Waldemar Fitzurse, “ and if your Grace attempt it, cannot 
but prove ruinous to your projects / 7 

“ I entertained you, sir , 77 said John, reining up his pal- 
frey haughtily, “for my follower, but not for my coun- 
sellor / 7 

“ Those who follow your Grace in the paths which you 
tread , 77 said Waldemar, but speaking in a low voice, “ ac- 
quire the right of counsellors; for your interest and safety 
are not more deeply gaged 1 than their own / 7 

From the tone in which this was spoken, John saw the 
necessity of acquiescence. “ I did but jest/' he said; “ and 
you turn upon me like so many adders! Name whom you 
will, in the fiend’s name, and please yourselves / 7 

“ Nay, nay , 77 said De Bracy, “ let the fair sovereign’s 
throne remain unoccupied, until the conqueror shall be 
named, and then let him choose the lady by whom it shall 
be filled. It will add another grace to his triumph, and 
teach fair ladies to prize the love of valiant knights, who 
can exalt them to such distinction . 77 

“ If Brian de Bois-Guilbert gain the prize , 77 said the 
Prior, “ I will gage my rosary 2 that I name the Sovereign 
of Love and Beauty . 77 

“ Bois-Guilbert , 77 answered De Bracy, “ is a good lance; 
but there are others around these lists, Sir Prior, who will 
not fear to encounter him . 77 

“ Silence, sirs , 77 said Waldemar, “ and let the Prince 
assume his seat. The knights and spectators are alike 
impatient, the time advances, and highly fit it is that the 
sports should commence . 77 

Prince John, though not yet a monarch, had in Walde- 
mar Fitzurse all the inconveniences of a favourite minister, 
who, in serving his sovereign, must always do so in his own 
way. The Prince acquiesced, however, although his dis- 
position was precisely of that kind which is apt to be obsti- 
nate upon trifles, and, assuming his throne, and being 
surrounded by his followers, gave signal to the heralds to 
proclaim the laws of the tournament, which were briefly as 
follows: 

First, the five challengers were to undertake all comers. 

Secondly, any knight proposing to combat might, if he 

1 Engaged ; staked. 

3 The string of beads used in counting prayers. 


IV AN HOE 


91 


pleased, select a special antagonist from among the chal- 
lengers, by touching his shield. If he did so with the 
reverse of his lance, the trial of skill was made with what 
were called the arms of courtesy, that is, with lances at 
whose extremity a piece of round flat board was fixed, so 
that no danger was encountered, save from the shock of the 
horses and riders. But if the shield was touched with the 
sharp end of the lance, the combat was understood to he 
at outrance / that is, the knights were to fight with sharp 
weapons, as in actual battle. 

Thirdly, when the knights present had accomplished 
their vow, by each of them breaking five lances, the Prince 
was to declare the victor in the first day’s tourney, who 
should receive as prize a war-horse of exquisite beauty and 
matchless strength; and in addition to this reward of 
valour, it was now declared, he should have the peculiar 
honour of naming the Queen of Love and Beauty, by whom 
the prize should be given on the ensuing day. 

Fourthly, it was announced that, on the second day, 
there should be a general tournament, in which all the 
knights present, who were desirous to win praise, might 
take part; and being divided into two bands of equal num- 
bers, might fight it out manfully, until the signal was given 
by Prince John to cease the combat. The elected Queen 
of Love and Beauty was then to crown the knight whom 
the Prince should adjudge to have borne himself best in 
this second day, with a coronet composed of thin gold plate, 
cut into the shape of a laurel crown. On this second day 
the knightly games ceased. But on that which was to fol- 
low, feats of archery, of bull-baiting , 2 and other popular 
amusements, were to be practised, for the more immediate 
amusement of the populace. In this manner did Prince 
John endeavour to lay the foundation of a popularity 
which he was perpetually throwing down by some incon- 
siderate act of wanton aggression upon the feelings and 
prejudices of the people. 

The lists now presented a most splendid spectacle. The 
sloping galleries were crowded with all that was noble, 
great, wealthy, and beautiful in the northern and midland 
parts of England; and the contrast of the various dresses 

1 To the last extremity; to the death. 

2 The sport, now obsolete, of worrying a bull with dogs. 


92 


IVAN II OB 


of these dignified spectators rendered the view as gay as 
it was rich, while the interior and lower space, filled with 
the substantial burgesses and yeomen of merry England, 
formed, in their more plain attire, a dark fringe, or border, 
around this circle of brilliant embroidery, relieving, and, at 
the same time, setting off its splendour. 

The heralds finished their proclamation with their usual 
cry of “ Largesse , 1 largesse, gallant knights! ” and gold and 
silver pieces were showered on them from the galleries, it 
being a high point of chivalry to exhibit liberality towards 
those whom the age accounted at once the secretaries and 
the historians of honour. The bounty of the spectators 
was acknowledged by the customary shouts of “ Love of 
Ladies — Death of Champions — Honour to the Generous — 
Glory to the Brave! ” To which the more humble specta- 
tors added their acclamations, and a numerous band of 
trumpeters the flourish 2 of their martial instruments. 
When these sounds had ceased, the heralds withdrew from 
the lists in gay and glittering procession, and none re- 
mained within them save the marshals of the field, who, 
armed cap-a-pie , 3 sat on horseback, motionless as statues, at 
the opposite ends of the lists. Meantime, the enclosed 
space at the northern extremity of the lists, large as it was, 
was now completely crowded with knights desirous to 
prove their skill against the challengers, and, when viewed 
from the galleries, presented the appearance of a sea of 
waving plumage, intermixed with glistening helmets, and 
tall lances, to the extremities of which were, in many cases, 
attached small pennons of about a span’s breadth, which, 
fluttering in the air as the breeze caught them, joined with 
the restless motion of the feathers to add liveliness to the 
scene. 

At length the barriers were opened, and five knights, 
chosen by lot, advanced slowly into the area; a single cham- 
pion riding in front, and the other four following in pairs. 
All were splendidly armed, and my Saxon authority (in the 
Wardour Manuscript ) 4 records at great length their de- 
vices, their colours, and the embroidery of their horse trap- 
pings. It is unnecessary to be particular on these subjects. 

1 A bounty. 2 A fantastic series of notes. 

3 From head to foot (French, de cap d pie). 

4 See the Author’s Introduction. 


1YANH0E 


93 


To borrow lines from a contemporary poet, who has written 
but too little — 

“ The knights are dust, 

And their good swords are rust, 

Their souls are with the saints, we trust.” * 

Their escutcheons 1 have long mouldered from the walls 
of their castles. Their castles themselves are but green 
mounds and shattered ruins — the place that once knew 
them, knows them no more — nay, many a race since theirs 
has died out and been forgotten in the very land which 
they occupied, with all the authority of feudal proprietors 
and feudal lords. What, then, would it avail the reader to 
know their names, or the evanescent symbols of their mar- 
tial rank! 

Now, however, no whit anticipating the oblivion which 
awaited their names and feats, the champions advanced 
through the lists, restraining their fiery steeds, and com- 
pelling them to move slowly, while, at the same time, they 
exhibited their paces, together with the grace and dex- 
terity of the riders. As the procession entered the lists, 
the sound of a wild Barbaric music was heard from behind 
the tents of the challengers, where the performers were 
concealed. It was of Eastern origin, having been brought 
from the Holy Land; and the mixture of the cymbals and 
bells seemed to bid welcome at once, and defiance, to the 
knights as they advanced. With the eyes of an immense 
concourse of spectators fixed upon them, the five knights 
advanced up the platform upon which the tents of the 
challengers stood, and there separating themselves, each 
touched slightly, and with the reverse of his lance, the 
shield of the antagonist to whom he wished to oppose him- 
self. The lower orders of spectators in general — nay, 
many of the higher class, and it is even said several of the 
ladies, were rather disappointed at the champions choosing 

* These lines are part of an unpublished poem by Coleridge, whose 
Muse so often tantalizes with fragments which indicate her powers, 
while the manner in which she flings them from her betrays her 
caprice, yet whose unfinished sketches display more talent than the 
laboured masterpieces of others. [Scott.] 

1 The shield ; the field or ground on which a coat of arms is repre- 
sented. 


94 


1 VAN 110 E 


the arms of courtesy. For the same sort of persons who, 
in the present day, applaud most highly the deepest trage- 
dies, were then interested in a tournament exactly in pro- 
portion to the danger incurred by the champions engaged. 

Having intimated their more pacific purpose, the cham- 
pions retreated to the extremity of the lists, where they re- 
mained drawn up in a line; while the challengers, sallying 
each from his pavilion, mounted their horses, and, headed 
by Brian de Bois-Guilbert, descended from the platform, 
and opposed themselves individually to the knights who 
had touched their respective shields. 

At the flourish of clarions and trumpets, they started out 
against each other at full gallop; and such was the superior 
dexterity or good fortune of the challengers, that those 
opposed to Bois-Guilbert, Malvoisin, and Front-de-Boeuf, 
rolled on the ground. The antagonist of Grantmesnil, 
instead of bearing liis lance-point fair \ against the crest 1 
or the shield of his enemy, swerved so much from the direct 
line as to break the weapon athwart the person of his 
opponent — a circumstance which was accounted more dis- 
graceful than that of being actually unhorsed; because 
the latter might happen from accident, whereas the former 
evinced awkwardness and want of management of the 
weapon and of the horse. The fifth knight alone main- 
tained the honour of his party, and parted fairly with the 
Knight of St. John, both splintering their lances without 
advantage on either side. 

The shouts of the multitude, together with the acclama- 
tions of the heralds and the clangour of the trumpets, 
announced the triumph of the victors and the defeat of the 
vanquished. The former retreated to their pavilions, and 
the latter, gathering themselves up as they could, withdrew 
from the lists in disgrace and dejection, to agree with their 
victors concerning the redemption of their arms and their 
horses, which, according to the laws of the tournament, 
they had forfeited. The fifth of their number alone tarried 
in the lists long enough to be greeted by the applauses of 
the spectators, amongst whom he retreated, to the aggrava- 
tion, doubtless, of his companions’ mortification. 

A second and a third party of knights took the field; and 
although they had various success, yet, upon the whole, the 
1 The plume or top of the helmet. 


I VAN HOE 


95 


advantage decidedly remained with the challengers, not 
one of whom lost his seat or swerved from his charge — mis- 
fortunes which befell one or two of their antagonists in 
each encounter. The spirits, therefore, of those opposed 
to them seemed to be considerably damped by their con- 
tinued success. Three knights only appeared on the fourth 
entry, who, avoiding the shields of Bois-Guilbert and 
1 ront-de-Bceuf, contented themselves with touching those 
of the three other knights, who had not altogether mani- 
fested the same strength and dexterity. This politic selec- 
tion did not alter the fortune of the field: the challengers 
were still successful. One of their antagonists was over- 
thrown, and both the others failed in the attaint * that is, 
in striking the helmet and shield of their antagonist firmly 
and strongly, with the lance held in a direct line, so that 
the weapon might break unless the champion was over- 
thrown. 

After this fourth encounter, there was a considerable 
pause; nor did it appear that any one was very desirous 
of renewing the contest. The spectators murmured among 
themselves: for, among the challengers, Malvoisin and 
Front-de-Boeuf were unpopular from their characters, and 
the others, except Grantmesnil, were disliked as strangers 
and foreigners. 

But none shared the general feeling of dissatisfaction so 
keenly as Cedric the Saxon, who saw, in each advantage 
gained by the Norman challengers, a repeated triumph over 
the honour of England. His own education had taught 
him no skill in the games of chivalry, although, with the 
arms of his Saxon ancestors, he had manifested himself, on 
many occasions, a brave and determined soldier. He looked 
anxiously to Athelstane, who had learned the accomplish- 
ments of the age, as if desiring that he should make some 
personal effort to recover the victory which was passing 
into the hands of the Templar and his associates. But, 
though both stout of heart and strong of person, Athel- 
stane had a disposition too inert and unambitious to make 
the exertions which Cedric seemed to expect from him. 

“ The day is against England, my lord/’ said Cedric, in 
a marked tone; “ are you not tempted to take the lance? ” 

* This term of chivalry, transferred to the law, gives the phrase of 
being attainted of treason. [Scott.] 


96 


IV AN HOE 


“ I shall tilt to-morrow,” answered Athelstane, “ in the 
melee ; it is not worth while for me to arm myself to-day.” 

Two things displeased Cedric in this speech. It con- 
tained the Norman word melee, (to express the general 
conflict,) and it evinced some indifference to the honour 
of the country; but it was spoken by Athelstane, whom he 
held in such profound respect that he would not trust 
himself to canvass his motives or his foibles. Moreover, 
he had no time to make any remark, for Wamba thrust in 
his word, observing, “ It was better, though scarce easier, 
to be the best man among a hundred, than the best man 
of two.” 

Athelstane took the observation as a serious compliment; 
but Cedric, who better understood the Jester’s meaning, 
darted at him a severe and menacing look; and lucky it was 
for Wamba, perhaps, that the time and place prevented 
his receiving, notwithstanding his place and service, more 
sensible marks of his master’s resentment. 

The pause in the tournament was still uninterrupted, 
excepting by the voices of the heralds exclaiming — “ Love 
of ladies, splintering of lances! stand forth, gallant knights, 
fair eyes look upon your deeds! ” 

The music also of the challengers breathed from time to 
time wild bursts expressive of triumph or defiance, while 
the clowns grudged a holiday which seemed to pass away 
in inactivity; and old knights and nobles lamented in whis- 
pers the decay of martial spirit, spoke of the triumphs of 
their younger days, but agreed that the land did not now 
supply dames of such transcendent beauty as had animated 
the jousts of former times. Prince John began to talk to 
his attendants about making ready the banquet, and the 
necessity of adjudging the prize to Brian de Bois-Guilbert, 
who had, with a single spear, overthrown two knights, and 
foiled a third. 

At length, as the Saracenic music of the challengers 
concluded one of those long and high flourishes with which 
they had broken the silence of the lists, it was answered by 
a solitary trumpet, which breathed a note of defiance from 
the northern extremity. All eyes were turned to see the 
new champion which these sounds announced, and no 
sooner were the barriers opened than he paced into the 
lists. As far as could be judged of a man sheathed in 

\ 


1VANH0E 


97 


armour, the new adventurer did not greatly exceed the 
middle size, and seemed to be rather slender than strongly 
made. His suit of armour was formed of steel, richly 
inlaid with gold, and the device on his shield was a young 
oak-tree pulled up by the roots, with the Spanish word 
Desdicliaclo, signifying Disinherited. He was mounted on 
a gallant black horse, and as he passed through the lists 
he gracefully saluted the Prince and the ladies by lowering 
his lance. The dexterity with which he managed his steed, 
and something of youthful grace which he displayed in his 
manner, won him the favour of the multitude, which some 
of the lower classes expressed by calling out, “ Touch 
Ralph de Vipont’s shield — touch the Hospitaller’s shield; 
he has the least sure seat, he is your cheapest bargain.” 

The champion, moving onward amid these well-meant 
hints, ascended the platform by the sloping alley which led 
to it from the lists, and, to the astonishment of all present, 
riding straight up to the central pavilion, struck with the 
sharp end of his spear the shield of Briafi de Bois-Guilbert 
until it rung again. All stood astonished at his presump- 
tion, but none more than the redoubted Knight whom he 
had thus defied to mortal combat, and who, little expecting 
so rude a challenge, was standing carelessly at the door of 
the pavilion. 

“ Have you confessed yourself, brother,” said the Tem- 
plar, “ and have you heard mass this morning, that you 
peril your life so frankly ? ” 

“ I am fitter to meet death than thou art,” answered the 
Disinherited Knight; for by this name the stranger had 
recorded himself in the books of the tourney. 

“ Then take your place in the lists,” said Bois-Guilbert, 
" and look your last upon the sun; for this night thou shalt 
sleep in paradise.” 

“ Gramercy for thy courtesy,” replied the Disinherited 
Knight, "and to requite it, I advise thee to take a fresh 
horse and a new lance, for by my honour you will need 
both.” 

Having expressed himself thus confidently, he reined 
his horse backward down the slope which he had ascended, 
and compelled him in the same manner to move backward 
through the lists, till he reached the northern extremity, 
where he remained stationary, in expectation of his antag- 
7 . 


98 


IV AN HOE 


onist. This feat of horsemanship again attracted the ap- 
plause of the multitude. 

However incensed at his adversary for the precautions 
which he recommended, Brian de Bois-Guilbert did not 
neglect his advice; for his honour was too nearly con- 
cerned, to permit his neglecting any means which might 
ensure victory over his presumptuous opponent. rile 
changed his horse for a proved and fresh one of great 
strength and spirit. He chose a new and a tough spear, 
lest the wood of the former might have been strained in 
the previous encounters lie had sustained. Lastly, he laid 
aside his shield, which had received some little damage, 
and received another from his squires. His first had only 
borne the general device of his rider, representing two 
knights riding upon one horse, an emblem expressive of 
the original humility and poverty of the Templars, quali- 
ties which they had since exchanged for the arrogance and 
wealth that finally occasioned their suppression. Bois- 
Guilbert’s new shield bore a raven in full flight, holding 
in its claws a skull, and bearing the motto, Gave le Cor- 
beau A 

When the two champions stood opposed to each other 
at the two extremities of the lists, the public expectation 
was strained to the highest pitch. Few augured the possi- 
bility that the encounter could terminate well for the Dis- 
inherited Knight, yet his courage and gallantry secured 
the general good wishes of the spectators. 

The trumpets had no sooner given the signal than the 
champions vanished from their posts with the speed of 
lightning, and closed in the centre of the lists with the 
shock of a thunderbolt. The lances burst into shivers up 
to the very grasp, and it seemed at the moment that both 
knights had fallen, for the shock had made each horse 
recoil backwards upon its haunches. The address 2 of the 
riders recovered their steeds by use of the bridle and spur; 
and having glared on each other for an instant with eyes 
which seemed to flash fire through the bars of their visors, 
each made a demi-volte, and, retiring to the extremity of 
the lists, received a fresh lance from the attendants. 

A loud shout from the spectators, waving of scarfs and 
handkerchiefs, and general acclamations attested the inter- 
1 Beware the Raven ! 2 Skill, 


IV AN no E 


99 


est taken by the spectators in this encounter; the most 
equal, as well as the best performed, which had graced the 
day. But no sooner had the knights resumed their station 
than the clamour of applause was hushed into a silence 
so deep and so dead that it seemed the multitude were 
afraid even to breathe. 

A few minutes’ pause having been allowed, that the com- 
batants and their horses might recover breath, Prince John 
with his truncheon signed to the trumpets to sound the 
onset. The champions a second time sprung from their 
stations, and closed in the centre of the lists, with the 
same speed, the same dexterity, the same violence, but not 
the same equal fortune as before. 

In this second encounter, the Templar aimed at the 
centre of his antagonist’s shield, and struck it so fair and 
forcibly that his spear went to shivers, and the Disin- 
herited Knight reeled in his saddle. On the other hand, 
that champion had, in the beginning of his career, directed 
the point of his lance towards Bois-Guilbert’s shield, but, 
changing his aim almost in the moment of encounter, he 
addressed it to the helmet, a mark more difficult to hit, 
but which, if attained, rendered the shock more irresistible. 
Fair and true he hit the Korman on the visor, where his 
lance’s point kept hold of the bars. Yet, even at this 
disadvantage, the Templar sustained his high reputation; 
and had not the girths of his saddle burst, he might not 
have been unhorsed. As it chanced, however, saddle, 
horse, and man, rolled on the ground under a cloud of dust. 

To extricate himself from the stirrups and fallen steed 
was to the Templar scarce the work of a moment; and, 
stung with madness, both at his disgrace and at the accla- 
mations with which it was hailed by the spectators, he 
drew his sword and waved it in defiance of his conqueror. 
The Disinherited Knight sprung from his steed, and also 
unsheathed his sword. The marshals of the field, however, 
spurred their horses between them, and reminded them 
that the laws of the tournament did not, on the present 
occasion, permit this species of encounter. 

“ We shall meet again, I trust,” said the Templar, cast- 
ing a resentful glance at his antagonist; “ and where there 
are none to separate us.” 

“ If we do not,” said the Disinherited Knight, “ the 


100 


IV AN HOE 


fault shall not be mine. On foot or horseback, with spear, 
with axe, or with sword, I am alike ready to encounter 
thee.” 

More and angrier w T ords would have been exchanged, 
but the marshals, crossing their lances betwixt them, com- 
pelled them to separate. The Disinherited Knight re- 
turned to his first station, and Bois-Guilbert to his tent, 
where he remained for the rest of the day in an agony of 
despair. 

Without alighting from his horse, the conqueror called 
for a bowl of wine, and opening the beaver, or lower part of 
his helmet, announced that he quaffed it, “ To all true 
English hearts, and to the confusion of foreign tyrants.” 
He then commanded his trumpet to sound a defiance to the 
challengers, and desired a herald to announce to them, 
that he should make no election, but was willing to en- 
counter them in the order in which they pleased to advance 
against him. 

The gigantic Front-de-Boeuf, armed in sable armour, 
was the first who took the field. He bore on a white shield 
a black bull’s head, half defaced by the numerous encoun- 
ters which he had undergone, and bearing the arrogant 
motto, Cave, Adsum. 1 Over this champion the Disin- 
herited Knight obtained a slight but decisive advantage. 
Both knights broke their lances fairly, but Front-de-Bceuf, 
who lost a stirrup 2 in the encounter, was adjudged to have 
the disadvantage. 

In the stranger’s third encounter, with Sir Philip Mal- 
voisin, he was equally successful; striking that baron so 
forcibly on the casque , 3 that the laces 4 of lie helmet broke, 
and Malvoisin, only saved from falling by being un- 
helmeted, was declared vanquished like his companions. 

In his fourth combat, with De Grantmesnil, the Disin- 
herited Knight showed as much courtesy as he had hitherto 
evinced courage and dexterity. De Grantmesnil’s horse, 
which was young and violent, reared and plunged in the 
course of the career so as to disturb the rider’s aim, and the 
stranger, declining to take the advantage which this acci- 

1 Beware, I am here ! 

2 This is one of the details whose accuracy is questioned in the 
Quarterly Review criticism of October, 1821. 

3 Helmet. 4 Fastenings. 


IV AN ROE 


101 


dent afforded him, raised his lance, and passing his antag- 
onist, without touching him, wheeled his horse and rode 
back again to his own end of the lists, offering his antag- 
onist, by a herald, the chance of a second encounter. This 
De Grantmesnil declined, avowing himself vanquished as 
much by the courtesy as by the address of his opponent. 

Ralph de Yipont summed up the list of the stranger’s 
triumphs, being hurled to the ground with such force 
that the blood gushed from his nose and his mouth, and 
he was borne senseless from the lists. 

The acclamations of thousands applauded the unanimous 
award of the Prince and marshals, announcing that day’s 
honours to the Disinherited Knight. 

[In connection with this chapter the description of the tournament 
in Chaucer’s Knight's Tale (see Dryden’s translation, Palamon and 
Arcite, in this series) may be read with advantage. Notice the very 
skilful fashion in which Scott leads up to the entrance of the Disin- 
herited Knight, and the artistic effect of “the solitary trumpet.” 
By what various means does he secure the reader’s sympathy for the 
unknown champion ?] 


CHAPTER IX 


In the midst was seen 
A lady of a more majestic mien, 

By stature and by beauty mark’d their sovereign Queen. 
******* 

And as in beauty she surpass’d the choir, 

So nobler than the rest was her attire ; 

A crown of ruddy gold enclosed her brow, 

Plain without pomp, and rich without a show; 

A branch of Agnus Castus in her hand, 

She bore aloft her symbol of command. 

The Flower and the Leaf. 

William de WYYiLancl Stephen de Martival, the mar- 
shals of the field, were the first to offer their congratula- 
tions to the victor, praying him, at the same time, to suffer 
his helmet to he unlaced, or, at least, that he would raise 
his visor ere they conducted him to receive the prize of the 
day’s tourney from the hands of Prince John. The Dis- 
inherited Knight, with all knightly courtesy, declined their 
request, alleging that he could not at this time suffer his 
face to he seen, for reasons which he had assigned to the 
heralds when he entered the lists. The marshals .were 
perfectly satisfied by this reply; for amidst the frequent 
and capricious vows by which knights were accustomed to 
hind themselves in the days of chivalry, there were none 
more common than those by which they engaged to remain 
incognito for a certain space, or until some particular ad- 
venture was achieved. The marshals, therefore, pressed 
no farther into the mystery of the Disinherited Knight, 
but, announcing to Prince John the conqueror’s desire to 
remain unknown, they requested permission to bring him 
before his Grace, in order that he might receive the reward 
of his valour. 

John’s curiosity was excited by the mystery observed 
by the stranger; and, being already displeased with the 
issue of the tournament, in which the challengers whom he 


IVANHOE 


103 


favoured had been successively defeated by one knight, 
be answered haughtily to the marshals, “ By the light of 
Our Lady’s brow, this same knight hath been disinherited 
as well of his courtesy as of his lands, since he desires to 
appear before us without uncovering his face. — Wot 1 ye, 
my lords,” he said, turning round to his train, “ who this 
gallant can he, that bears himself thus proudly? ” 

“ I cannot guess,” answered De Bracy, “ nor did I think 
there had been within the four seas that girth Britain a 
champion that could bear down these five knights in one 
day’s jousting. By my faith, I shall never forget the force 
with which he shocked De Yipont. The poor Hospitaller 
was hurled from his saddle like a stone from a sling.” 

“ Boast not of that,” said a Knight of St. John, who 
was present; “ your Temple champion had no better luck. 
I saw your brave lance, Bois-Guilbert, roll thrice over, 
grasping his hands full of sand at every turn.” 

De Bracy, being attached to the Templars, would have 
replied, hut was prevented by Prince John. “ Silence, 
sirs! ” he said; “ what unprofitable debate have we here? ” 

“ The victor,” said De Wyvil, “ still waits the pleasure of 
your highness.” 

“It is our pleasure,” answered John, “that lie do so 
wait until we learn whether there is not some one who can 
at least guess at his name and quality. Should he remain 
there till night-fall, he has had work enough to keep him 
warm.” 

“ Your Grace,” said Waldemar Fitzurse, “ will do less 
than due honour to the victor, if you compel him to wait 
till we tell your highness that which we cannot know; at 
least'/ can form no guess — unless he he one of the good 
lances who accompanied King Eichard to Palestine, and 
who are now straggling homeward from the Holy Land.” 

“It may he the Earl of Salisbury,” 2 said De Bracy; “ he 
is about the same pitch.” 3 

“ Sir Thomas de Multon , 4 the Knight of Gilsland, 
rather,” said Fitzurse; “ Salisbury is bigger in the bones.” 

1 Know. 

2 William Longsword (d. 1226), third Earl of Salisbury, a half- 
brother of Richard I. 

3 Height. 

1 See previous note, Chapter v. 


104 


IVANIIOE 


A whisper arose among the train, hut by whom first sug- 
gested could not be ascertained: “ It might be the King — 
it might he Bichard Cceur-de-Lion himself! ” 

“ Over God’s forebode 1 ! ” said Prince J ohn, involun- 
tarily turning at the same time as pale as death, and shrink- 
ing as if blighted by a flash of lightning; “ Waldemar! — 
De Bracy! brave knights and gentlemen, remember your 
promises, and stand truly by me ! ” 

“Here is no danger impending,” said Waldemar Fitzurse; 
“ are you so little acquainted with the gigantic limbs of 
your father’s son as to think they can be held within the 
circumference of yonder suit of armour? — De Wyvil and 
Martival, you will best serve the Prince by bringing for- 
ward the victor to the throne, and ending an error that 
has conjured all the blood from his cheeks. — Look at him 
more closely,” he continued, “ your highness will see that 
he wants three inches of King Eichard’ s height, and twdce 
as much of his shoulder-breadth. The very horse he backs, 
could not have carried the ponderous weight of King 
Eichard through a single course.” 

While he was yet speaking, the marshals brought for- 
ward the Disinherited Knight to the foot of a wooden flight 
of steps, which formed the ascent from the lists to Prince 
John’s throne. Still discomposed with the idea that his 
brother, so much injured, and to whom he was so much 
indebted, had suddenly arrived in his native kingdom, 
even the distinctions pointed out by Fitzurse did not al- 
together remove the Prince’s apprehensions; and while, 
with a short and embarrassed eulogy upon his valour, he 
caused to be delivered to him the war-horse assigned as 
the prize, he trembled lest, from the barred visor of the 
mailed form before him, an answer might be returned in 
the deep and awful accents of Eichard the Lion-hearted. 

But the Disinherited Knight spoke not a word in reply 
to the compliment of the Prince, which he only acknowl- 
edged with a profound obeisance. 

The horse was led into the lists by two grooms richly 
dressed, the animal itself being fully accoutred with the 
richest war-furniture; which, however, scarcely added to 
the value of the noble creature in the eyes of those who 
were judges. Laying one hand upon the pommel of the 
1 Forbidding; i.e., “ God forbid ! ” 


I VAN HOE 


105 


saddle, the Disinherited Knight vaulted at once upon the 
back of the steed without making use of the stirrup, and, 
brandishing aloft his lance, rode twice around the lists, 
exhibiting the points and paces of the horse with the skill 
of a perfect horseman. 

The appearance of vanity, which might otherwise have 
been attributed to this display, was removed by the pro- 
priety shown in exhibiting to the best advantage the 
princely reward with which he had been just honoured, 
and the Ivnight was again greeted by the acclamations of 
all present. 

In the meanwhile, the bustling Prior of Jorvaulx had 
reminded Prince John, in a whisper, that the victor must 
now display his good judgment, instead of his valour, by 
selecting from among the beauties who graced the galleries 
a lady who should fill the throne of the Queen of Beauty 
and of Love, and deliver the prize of the tourney upon the 
ensuing day. The Prince accordingly made a sign with his 
truncheon, as the Knight passed him in his second career 
around the lists. The Knight turned towards the throne, 
and, sinking his lance until the point was within a foot of 
the ground, remained motionless, as if expecting John’s 
commands; while all admired the sudden dexterity with 
which he instantly reduced his fiery steed from a state of 
violent emotion and high excitation to the stillness of an 
equestrian statue. 

“ Sir Disinherited Knight,” said Prince John, “ since 
that is the only title by which we can address you, it is 
now your duty, as well as privilege, to name the fair lady 
who, as Queen of Honour and of Love, is to preside over 
next day’s festival. If, as a stranger in our land, you 
should require the aid of other judgment to guide your 
own, we can only say that Alicia, the daughter of our gal- 
lant knight Waldemar Fitzurse, has at our court been long 
held the first in beauty as in place. Nevertheless, it is 
your undoubted prerogative to confer on whom you please 
this crown, by the delivery of which to the lady of your 
choice, the election of to-morrow’s Queen will be formal 
and complete. — Raise your lance.” 

The Knight obeyed; and Prince John placed upon its 
point a coronet of green satin, having around its edge a 
circlet of gold, the upper edge of which was relieved by 


106 


IVANIIOE 


arrow-points and hearts placed interchangeably, like the 
strawberry leaves and balls upon a ducal crown. 

In the broad hint which he dropped respecting the 
daughter of Waldemar Fitzurse, John had more than one 
motive, each the offspring of a mind which was a strange 
mixture of carelessness and presumption with low artifice 
and cunning. He wished to banish from the minds of the 
chivalry around him his own indecent and unacceptable 
jest respecting the Jewess Rebecca; he was desirous of 
conciliating Alicia’s father Waldemar, of whom he stood in 
awe, and who had more than once shown himself dissatis- 
fied during the course of the day’s proceedings. He had 
also a wish to establish himself in the good graces of the 
lady; for John was at least as licentious in his pleasures as 
profligate in his ambition. But besides all these reasons, 
he was desirous to raise up against the Disinherited Knight 
(towards whom he already entertained a strong dislike) a 
powerful enemy in the person of Waldemar Fitzurse, who 
was likely, he thought, highly to resent the injury done to 
his daughter, in case, as was not unlikely, the victor should 
make another choice. 

And so indeed it proved. For the Disinherited Knight 
passed the gallery close to that of the Prince, in which the 
Lady Alicia was seated in the full pride of triumphant 
beauty, and, pacing forwards as slowly as he had hitherto 
rode swiftly around the lists, he seemed to exercise his 
right of examining the numerous fair faces which adorned 
that splendid circle. 

It was worth while to see the different conduct of the 
beauties who underwent this examination, during the time 
it was proceeding. Some blushed, some assumed an air of 
pride and dignity, some looked straight forward and es- 
sayed to seem utterly unconscious of what was going on, 
some drew back in alarm which was perhaps affected, some 
endeavoured to forbear smiling, and there were two or 
three who laughed outright. There was also some who 
dropped their veils over their charms; but as the Wardour 
Manuscript says these were fair ones of ten years’ standing, 
it may be supposed that, having had their full share of such 
vanities, they were willing to withdraw their claim, in 
order to give a fair chance to the rising beauties of the 
age. 


I VANIK) E 


107 


At length the champion paused beneath the balcony in 
which the Lady Rowena was placed, and the expectation 
of the spectators was excited to the utmost. 

It must he owned that, if an interest displayed in his 
success could have bribed the Disinherited Knight, the 
part of the lists before which he paused had merited his 
predilection. Cedric the Saxon, overjoyed at the discom- 
fiture of the Templar, and still more so at the miscarriage 
of his two malevolent neighbours, Front-de-Boeuf and 
Malvoisin, had, with his body half-stretched over the bal- 
cony, accompanied the victor in each course, not with his 
eyes only, hut with his whole heart and soul. The Lady 
Kowena had watched the progress of the day with equal at- 
tention, though without openly betraying the same intense 
interest. Even the unmoved Athelstane had shown symp- 
toms of shaking off his apathy, when, calling for a huge 
goblet of muscadine , 1 he quaffed it to the health of the 
Disinherited Knight. 

Another group, stationed under the gallery occupied 
by the Saxons, had shown no less interest in the fate of 
the day. 

“ Father Abraham! ” said Isaac of York, when the first 
course was run betwixt the Templar and the Disinherited 
Knight, “how fiercely that Gentile rides! Ah, the good 
horse that was brought all the long way from Barbary, he 
takes no more care of him than if he were a wild ass’s colt 
— and the noble armour, that was worth so many zecchins 2 
to Joseph Pareira, the armourer of Milan, besides seventy 
in the hundred of profits, he cares for it as little as if he 
had found it in the highways! ” 

“ If he risks his own person and limbs, father,” said 
Kehecca, “ in doing such a dreadful battle, he can scarce be 
expected to spare his horse and armour.” 

“ Child! ” replied Isaac, somewhat heated, “thou know- 
est not what thou speakest. His neck and limbs are his 
own, hut his horse and armour belong to — Holy Jacob! 
what was I about to say! — Nevertheless, it is a good youth. 
— See, Rebecca! see, he is again about to go up to battle 
against the Philistine — Pray, child— pray for the safety of 
the good youth, — and of the speedy horse, and the rich 

1 Wine made from muscat grapes. 

3 Same as sequin; a Venetian gold coin worth about two dollars. 


108 


IVANHOE 


armour. — God of my fathers! ” he again exclaimed, “ he 
hath conquered, and the uncircumcised Philistine hath 
fallen before his lance, — even as Og the King of Bashan , 1 
and Sihon, King of the Amorites , 2 fell before the sword of 
our fathers! — Surely he shall take their gold and their 
silver, and their war-horses, and their armour of brass and 
of steel, for a prey and for a spoil.” 

The same anxiety did the worthy Jew display during 
every course that was. run, seldom failing to hazard a hasty 
calculation concerning the value of the horse and armour 
which was forfeited to the champion upon each new 
success. There had been therefore no small interest taken 
in the success of the Disinherited Knight, by those who 
occupied the part of the lists before which he now paused. 

Whether from indecision or some other motive of hesi- 
tation, the champion of the day remained stationary for 
more than a minute, while the eyes of the silent audience 
were riveted upon his motions; and then, gradually and 
gracefully sinking the point of his lance, he deposited the 
coronet which it supported at the feet of the fair Rowena. 
The trumpets instantly sounded, while the heralds pro- 
claimed the Lady Rowena the Queen of Beauty and of 
Love for the ensuing day, menacing with suitable penalties 
those who should be disobedient to her authority. They 
then repeated their cry of Largesse, to which Cedric, in the 
height of his joy, replied by an ample donative , 3 and to 
which Athelstane, though less promptly, added one equally 
large. 

There was some murmuring among the damsels of Nor- 
man descent, who were as much unused to see the prefer- 
ence given to a Saxon beauty as the Norman nobles were 
to sustain defeat in the games of chivalry which they 
themselves had introduced. But these sounds of disaffec- 
tion were drowned by the popular shout of “ Long live the 
Lady Rowena, the chosen and lawful Queen of Love and of 
Beauty! ” To which many in the lower area added, “ Long 
live the Saxon Princess! long live the race of the immortal 
Alfred! ” 

1 Og, the giant king of Bashan, a district east of the Jordan. 
Deuteronomy iii. 

2 A Syrian tribe who were defeated by the Israelites. Numbers xxi. 

21-34. 3 Gift. 


IVANHOE 


109 


However unacceptable these sounds might be to Prince 
J ohm, and to those around him, he saw himself nevertheless 
obliged to confirm the nomination of the victor, and ac- 
cordingly calling to horse, he left his throne; and mounting 
his jennet, accompanied by his train, he again entered 
the lists. The Prince paused a moment beneath the 
gallery of the Lady Alicia, to whom he paid his compli- 
ments, observing, at the same time, to those around him — 
“ By my halidome, sirs! if the Knight’s feats in arms have 
shown that he hath limbs and sinews, his choice hath no 
less proved that his eyes are none of the clearest/ 5 

It was on this occasion, as during his whole life, John’s 
misfortune, not perfectly to understand the characters of 
those whom he wished to conciliate. Waldemar Fitzurse 
was rather offended than pleased at 'the Prince stating 
thus broadly an opinion that his daughter had been 
slighted. 

“ I know no right of chivalry,” he said, “ more precious 
or inalienable than that of each free knight to choose his 
lady-love by his own judgment. My daughter courts dis- 
tinction from no one; and in her own character, and in her 
own sphere, will never fail to receive 'the full proportion 
of that which is her due.” 

Prince John replied not; but, spurring his horse, as if to 
give vent to his vexation, he made the animal bound for- 
ward to the gallery where Eowena was seated, with the 
crown still at her feet. 

“ Assume,” he said, “ fair lady, the mark of your sov- 
ereignty, to which none vows homage more sincerely than 
ourself, John of Anjou 1 ; and if it please you to-day, with 
your noble sire and friends, to grace our banquet in the 
Castle of Ashby, we shall learn to know the empress to 
whose service we devote to-morrow.” 

Rowena remained silent, and Cedric answered for her 
in his native Saxon. 

“ The Lady Rowena,” he said, “ possesses not the lan- 
guage in which to reply to your courtesy, or to sustain her 
part in your festival. I also, and the noble Athelstane of 
Coningsburgh, speak only the language, and practise only 

1 The name of the French province where the line of Angevin kings 
of England (“ House of Anjou ”) originated. See Table of English 
Kings. 


110 


IVANHOE 


the manners, of onr fathers. We therefore decline with 
thanks your Highness’s courteous invitation to the banquet. 
To-morrow, the Lady Rowena will take upon her the state 
to which she has been called by the free election of the 
victor Knight, confirmed by the acclamations of the 
people.” 

So saying, he lifted the coronet, and placed it upon 
Rowena’s head, in token of her acceptance of the temporary 
authority assigned to her. 

“ What says he?” said Prince John, affecting not to 
understand the Saxon language, in which, however, he 
was well skilled. The purport of Cedric’s speech was re- 
peated to him in French. “It is well,” he said; “to- 
morrow we will ourself conduct this mute sovereign to her 
seat of dignity. — You, at least, Sir Knight,” he added, 
turning to the victor, who had remained near the gallery, 
“ will this day share our banquet? ” 

The Knight, speaking for the first time, in a low and 
hurried voice, excused himself by pleading fatigue, and the 
necessity of preparing for to-morrow’s encounter. 

“ It is well,” said Prince John, haughtily; “ although 
unused to such refusals, we will endeavour to digest our 
banquet as we may, though ungraced by the most success- 
ful in arms, and his elected Queen of P>eauty.” 

So saying, he prepared to leave the lists with his glitter- 
ing train; and his turning his steed for that purpose was 
the signal for the breaking up and dispersion of the spec- 
tators. 

Yet, with the vindictive memory proper to offended 
pride, especially when combined with conscious want of 
desert, John had hardly proceeded three paces, ere again, 
turning around, he fixed an eye of stern resentment upon 
the yeoman who had displeased him in the early part of the 
day, and issued his commands to the men-at-arms who 
stood near — “ On your life, suffer not that fellow to 
escape.” 

The yeoman stood the angry glance of the Prince with 
the same unvaried steadiness which had marked his former 
deportment, saying, with a smile, “ I have no intention to 
leave Ashby until the day after to-morrow — I must see how 
Staffordshire 1 and Leicestershire can draw their bows — 
1 A county northwest of Leicestershire, and southwest of Yorkshire. 


IV AN IIOE 


111 


the forests of Needwood 1 and Charnwood 2 must rear good 
archers.” 

“I,” said Prince John to his attendants, but not in direct 
repty, — “ I will see how he can draw his own; and woe 
betide him unless his skill should prove some apology for 
his insolence! ” 

“ It is full time,” said De Bracy, “ that the outrecui- 
dance * of these peasants should be restrained by some 
striking example.” 

Waldemar Fitzurse, who probably thought his patron 
was not taking the readiest road to popularity, shrugged up 
his shoulders and was silent. Prince John resumed his 
retreat from the lists, and the dispersion of the multitude 
became general. 

In various routes, according to the different quarters 
from which they came, and in groups of various numbers, 
the spectators were seen retiring over the plain. By far the 
most numerous part streamed towards the town of Ashby, 
where many of the distinguished persons were lodged 
in the castle, and where others found accommodation in 
the town itself. Among these were most of the knights 
who had already appeared in the tournament, or who pro- 
posed to fight there the ensuing day, and who, as they rode 
slowly along, talking over the events of the day, were 
greeted with loud shouts by the populace. The same accla- 
mations were bestowed upon Prince John, although he was 
indebted for them rather to the splendour of his appear- 
ance and train than to the popularity of his character. 

A more sincere and more general, as well as a better- 
merited acclamation, attended the victor of the day, until, 
anxious to withdraw himself from popular notice, he ac- 
cepted the accommodation of one of those pavilions pitched 
at the extremities of the lists, the use of which was cour- 
teously tendered him by the marshals of the field. On his 
retiring to his tent, many who had lingered in the lists, to 
look upon and form conjectures concerning him, also dis- 
persed. 

The signs and sounds of a tumultuous concourse of men 

* Presumption, insolence. [Scott.] 

1 An ancient royal forest in Staffordshire, disforested in 1801, but 
still standing in part. 

2 A barren tract in the northern part of Leicestershire. 


112 


IV AN HOE 


lately crowded together in one place, and agitated by the 
same passing events, were now exchanged for the distant 
hom of voices of different groups retreating in all direc- 
tions, and these speedily died away in silence. No other 
sounds were heard save the voices of the menials who 
stripped the galleries of their cushions and tapestry, in 
order to put them in safety for the night, and wrangled 
among themselves for the half-used bottles of wine and 
relics of the refreshment which had been served round to 
the spectators. 

Beyond the precincts of the lists more than one forge 
was erected; and these now began to glimmer through the 
twilight, announcing the toil of the armourers, which was 
to continue through the whole night, in order to repair or 
alter the suits of armour to be used again on the morrow. 

A strong guard of men-at-arms, renewed at intervals, 
from two hours to two hours, surrounded the lists, and 
kept watch during the night. 


CHAPTER X 


Thus, like the sad presaging raven, that tolls 
The sick man’s passport in her hollow beak, 

And in the shadow of the silent night 
Doth shake contagion from her sable wings ; 

Vex’d and tormented, runs poor Barrabas, 

With fatal curses towards these Christians. 

Jew of Malta. 

The Disinherited Knight had no sooner reached his 
pavilion than squires and pages in abundance tendered 
their services to disarm him, to bring fresh attire, and to 
offer him the refreshment of the hath. Their zeal on this 
occasion was perhaps sharpened by curiosity, since every 
one desired to know who the knight was that had gained so 
many laurels, }^et had refused, even at the command of 
Prince John, to lift his visor or to name his name. But 
their officious inquisitiveness was not gratified. The Dis- 
inherited Knight refused all other assistance save that of 
his own squire, or rather yeoman — a clownish-looking man, 
who, wrapt in a cloak of dark-coloured felt, and having his 
head and face half-buried in a Horman bonnet made of 
black fur, seemed to affect the incognito 1 as much as his 
master. All others being excluded from the tent, this 
attendant relieved his master from the more burdensome 
parts of his armour, and placed food and wine before him, 
which the exertions of the day rendered very acceptable. 

The Knight had scarcely finished a hasty meal, ere his 
menial announced to him that five men, each leading a 
barbed 2 steed, desired to speak with him. The Disin- 
herited Knight had exchanged his armour for the long 
robe usually worn by those of his condition, which, being 
furnished with a hood, concealed the features, when such 
was the pleasure of the wearer, almost as completely as 

1 Unknown; used of a person in disguise. 

2 Equipped with armour, or provided with ornamental housings. 

8 


114 


IVANHOE 


the visor of the helmet itself, but the twilight, which was 
now fast darkening, would of itself have rendered a dis- 
guise unnecessary, unless to persons to whom the face of 
an individual chanced to be particularly well known. 

The Disinherited Knight, therefore, stept boldly forth 
to the front of his tent, and found in attendance the squires 
of the challengers, whom he easily knew by their russet 
and black dresses, each of whom led his master’s charger, 
loaded with the armour in which he had that day fought. 

“ According to the laws of chivalry,” said the foremost 
of these men, “ I, Baldwin de Oyley, squire to the re- 
doubted Knight Brian de Bois-Guilbert, make offer to you, 
styling yourself, for the present, the Disinherited Knight, 
of the horse and armour used by the said Brian de Bois- 
Guilbert in this day’s Passage of Arms, leaving it with 
your nobleness to retain or to ransom the same, according 
to your pleasure; for such is the law of arms.” 

The other squires repeated nearly the same formula, 
and then stood to await the decision of the Disinherited 
Knight. 

“ To you four, sirs,” replied the Knight, addressing 
those who had last spoken, “ and to your honourable and 
valiant masters, I have one common reply. Commend me 
to the noble knights, your masters, and say, I should do 
ill to deprive them of steeds and arms which can never be 
used by braver cavaliers. — I would I could here end my 
message to these gallant knights; but being, as I term my- 
self, in truth and earnest, the Disinherited, I must be thus 
far bound to your masters, that they will, of their courtesy, 
be pleased to ransom their steeds and armour, since that 
which I wear I can hardly term mine own.” 

“ We stand commissioned, each of us,” answered the 
squire of Reginald Front-de-Bceuf, “ to offer a hundred 
zeechins in ransom of these horses and suits of armour.” 

“ It is sufficient,” said the Disinherited Knight. “ Half 
the sum my present necessities compel me to accept; of the 
remaining half, distribute one moiety 1 among yourselves, 
sir squires, and divide the other half betwixt the heralds 
and the pursuivants, and minstrels and attendants.” 

The squires, with cap in hand, and low reverences, ex- 
pressed their deep sense of a courtesy and generosity not 

1 Half. 


IV AN HOE 


115 


often practised, at least upon a scale so extensive. The 
Disinherited Knight then addressed his discourse to Bald- 
win, the squire of Brian de Bois-Guilbert. “ From your 
master,” said he, “ I will accept neither arms nor ransom. 
Say to him in my name, that our strife is not ended — no, 
not till we have fought as well with swords as with lances — 
as well on foot as on horseback. To this mortal quarrel 
he has himself defied me, and I shall not forget the chal- 
lenge. — Meantime, let him be assured that I hold him not 
as one of his companions, with whom I can with pleasure 
exchange courtesies; hut rather as one with whom I stand 
upon terms of mortal defiance.” 

“ My master,” answered Baldwin, “ knows how to requite 
scorn with scorn, and blows with blows, as well as courtesy 
with courtesy. Since you disdain to accept from him any 
share of the ransom at which you have rated the arms of 
the other knights, I must leave his armour and his horse 
here, being well assured that he will never deign to mount 
the one nor wear the other.” 

“ You have spoken well, good squire,” said the Disin- 
herited Knight, “ well and boldly, as it beseemeth him to 
speak who answers for an absent master. Leave not, how- 
ever, the horse and armour here. Restore them to thy 
master; or, if he scorns to accept them, retain them, good 
friend, for thine own use. So far as they are mine, I bestow 
them upon you freely.” 

Baldwin made a deep obeisance, and retired with his 
companions; and the Disinherited Knight entered the 
pavilion. 

“ Thus far, Gurth,” said he, addressing his attendant, 
“ the reputation of English chivalry hath not suffered in 
my hands.” 

“ And I,” said Gurth, “ for a Saxon swineherd, have not 
ill played the personage of a Norman squire-at-arms.” 

“ Yea, but,” answered the Disinherited Knight, “thou 
hast ever kept me in anxiety lest thy clownish bearing 
should discover thee.” 

“ Tush! ” said Gurth, “ I fear discovery from none, sav- 
ing my playfellow, Wamba the Jester, of whom I could 
never discover whether he were most knave or fool, h et I 
could scarce choose but laugh, when my old master passed 
go near to me, dreaming all the while that Gurth was keep- 


116 


IVANIIOE 


ing his porkers many a mile off, in the thickets and swamps 
of Rotherwood. If I am discovered ” 

“ Enough,” said the Disinherited Knight, “ thou know- 
est my promise.” 

“ Kay, for that matter,” said Gurth, “ I will never fail 
my friend for fear of my skin-cutting. I have a tough 
hide, that wall bear knife or scourge as well as any boar’s 
hide in my herd.” 

“ Trust me, I will requite the risk you run for my love, 
Gurth,” said the Knight. “ Meanwhile, I pray you to 
accept these ten pieces of gold.” 

“ I am richer,” said Gurth, putting them into his pouch, 
“ than ever was swineherd or bondsman.” 

“ Take this bag of gold to Ashby,” continued his master, 
“ and find out Isaac the Jew of York, and let him pay him- 
self for the horse and arms with which his credit supplied 
me.” 

“ Kay, by St. Dunstan,” replied Gurth, “ that I will 
not do.” 

“ How, knave,” replied his master, “ wilt thou not obey 
my commands ? ” 

“ So they be honest, reasonable, and Christian com- 
mands,” replied Gurth; “ but this is none of these. To 
suffer the Jew to pay himself would be dishonest, for it 
would be cheating my master; and unreasonable, for it 
were the part of a fool; and unchristian, since it would 
be plundering a believer to enrich an infidel.” 

“ See him contented, however, thou stubborn varlet,” 1 
said the Disinherited Knight. 

“I will do so,” said Gurth, taking the bag under his 
cloak, and leaving the apartment; “ and it will go hard,” 
he muttered, “ but I content him with one-half of his own 
asking.’’ So saying, he departed, and left the Disinherited 
Knight to his own perplexed ruminations; which, upon 
more accounts than it is now possible to communicate to 
the reader, were of a nature peculiarly agitating and pain- 
ful. 

We must now change the scene to the village of Ashby, 
or rather to a country house in its vicinity belonging to a 
wealthy Israelite, with whom Isaac, his daughter, and 
retinue, had taken up their quarters; the Jews, it is well 

1 Servant or attendant; commonly used as a term of contempt. 


IVANHOE 


117 


known, being as liberal in exercising the duties of hos- 
pitality and charity among their own people as they were 
alleged to be reluctant and churlish in extending them to 
those whom they termed Gentiles, and whose treatment of 
them certainly merited little hospitality at their hand. 

In an apartment, small indeed, but richly furnished 
with decorations of an Oriental taste, Rebecca was seated 
on a heap of embroidered cushions, which, piled along a 
low platform that surrounded the chamber, served, like the 
estrada 1 of the Spaniards, instead of chairs and stools. 
She was watching the motions of her father with a look of 
anxious and filial affection, while he paced the apartment 
with a dejected mien and disordered step; sometimes clasp- 
ing his hands together — sometimes casting his eyes to the 
roof of the apartment, as one who laboured under great 
mental tribulation. “ 0 Jacob! 77 he exclaimed — “ 0 all 
ye twelve Holy Fathers of our tribe! what a losing venture 
is this for one who hath duly kept every jot and tittle 2 of 
the law of Moses — fifty zecchins wrenched from me at one 
clutch, and by the talons of a tyrant! 77 

“ But, father/ 7 said Rebecca, “ you seemed to give the 
gold to Prince John willingly. 77 

“ Willingly? the blotch 3 of Egypt upon him! — Will- 
ingly, saidst thou? — Ay, as willingly as when, in the Gulf of 
Lyons, I flung over my merchandise to lighten the ship, 
while she laboured in the tempest — robed the seething 
billows in my choice silks — perfumed their briny foam 
with myrrh and aloes — enriched their caverns with gold 
and silver work! And was not that an hour of unutterable 
misery, though my own hands made the sacrifice ? 77 

“ But it was a sacrifice which Heaven exacted to save 
our lives, 77 answered Rebecca, “ and the God of our fathers 
has since blessed your store and your gettings. 77 

“ Ay, 77 answered Isaac, “ but if the tyrant lays hold on 
them as he did to-day, and compels me to smile while he 
is robbing me? — 0 daughter, disinherited and wandering 
as we are, the worst evil which befalls our race is, that 
when we are wronged and plundered, all the world laughs 
around, and we are compelled to suppress our sense of 

1 A slightly raised platform. 

3 The smallest possible trifle. Mattheiv v. 18. 

3 Curse. 


118 


IVANIIOE 


injury, and to smile tamely, when we would revenge 
bravely.” 

“ Think not thus of it, my father,” said Eebecca; “ we 
also have advantages. These Gentiles, cruel and oppressive 
as they are, are in some sort dependent on the dispersed 
children of Zion , 1 whom they despise and persecute. With- 
out the aid of our wealth, they could neither furnish forth 
their hosts in war, nor their triumphs in peace; and the 
gold which we lend them returns with increase to our 
coffers. We are like the herb which flourisheth most when 
it is most trampled on. Even this day’s pageant had not 
proceeded without the consent of the despised Jew, who 
furnished the means.” 

“ Daughter,” said Isaac, “ thou hast harped upon an- 
other string of sorrow . 2 The goodly steed and the rich 
armour, equal to the full profit of my adventure with our 
Ivirjath Jairam of Leicester — there is a dead loss too — ay, 
a loss which swallows up the gains of a week; ay, of the 
space between two Sabaoths 3 — and yet it may end better 
than I now think, for ’tis a good youth.” 

“ Assuredly,” said Eebecca, “ you shall not repent you 
of requiting the good deed received of the stranger knight.” 

“ I trust so, daughter,” said Isaac, “ and I trust too in 
the rebuilding of Zion; but as well do I hope with my own 
bodily eyes to see the walls and battlements of the new 
Temple as to see a Christian, yea, the very best of Chris- 
tians, repay a debt to a Jew, unless under the awe of the 
judge and jailor.” 

So saying, he resumed his discontented walk through 
the apartment; and Eebecca, perceiving that her attempts 
at consolation only served to awaken new subjects of com- 
plaint, wisely desisted from her unavailing efforts — a pru- 
dential line of conduct, and we recommend to all who set 
up for comforters and advisers, to follow it in the like cir- 
cumstances. 

The evening was now becoming dark, when a Jewish 

1 Mt. Zion, a hill in Jerusalem, is here used, as often, to symbolize 
the Jewish race. 

2 For a general analogy to this speech, see Shylock’s in The Mer- 
chant of Venice, iii, 1. 

3 The proper meaning of this word is “hosts” (as in “the Lord 
God of Sabaoth ”), but it is frequently used erroneously, as here, to 
denote the Sabbath. 


IV AN IIOE 


119 


servant entered the apartment, and placed upon the table 
two silver lamps, fed with perfumed oil; the richest wines, 
and the most delicate refreshments, were at the same time 
displayed by another Israelitish domestic on a small ebony 
table, inlaid with silver; for, in the interior of their houses, 
the Jews refused themselves no expensive indulgences. 
At the same time, the servant informed Isaac that a 
Nazarene 1 (so they termed Christians, while conversing 
among themselves) desired to speak with him. He that 
would live by traffic must hold himself at the disposal of 
every one claiming business with him. Isaac at once re- 
placed on the table the untasted glass of Greek wine which 
he had just raised to his lips, and saving hastily to his 
daughter, “ Rebecca, veil thyself/’ commanded the stranger 
to be admitted. 

Just as Rebecca had dropped over her fine features a 
screen of silver gauze which reached to her feet, the door 
opened, and Gurth entered, wrapt in the ample folds of 
his Norman mantle. His appearance was rather suspicious 
than prepossessing, especially as, instead of doffing his 
bonnet, he pulled it still deeper over his rugged brow. 

“Art thou Isaac the Jew of York?” said Gurth, in 
Saxon. 

“I am,” replied Isaac, in the same language, (for his 
traffic had rendered every tongue spoken in Britain familiar 
to him) — “ and who art thou? ” 

“ That is not to the purpose,” answered Gurth. 

“As much as my name is to thee,” replied Isaac; “for 
without knowing thine, how can I hold intercourse with 
thee ? ” 

“Easily,” answered Gurth; “I, being to pay money, 
must know that I deliver it to the right person; thou, who 
art to receive it, wilt not, I think, care very greatly by 
whose hands it is delivered.” 

“0,” said the Jew, “you are come to pay moneys?— 
Holy Father Abraham! that altereth our relation to each 
other. And from whom dost thou bring it? ” 

“ From the Disinherited Knight,” said Gurth, “ victor 
in this day’s tournament. It is the price of the armour 
supplied to him by Kirjath Jairam of Leicester, on thy 
recommendation. The steed is restored to thy stable. I 
1 A follower of Jesus of Nazareth. 


1VAN1I0E 


120 

desire to know the amount of the sum which I am to pay 
for the armour.” 

“I said he was a good youth!” exclaimed Isaac with 
joyful exultation. " A cup of wine will do thee no harm,” 
he added, filling and handing to the swineherd a richer 
draught than Gurth had ever before tasted. " And how 
much money,” continued Isaac, " hast thou brought with 
thee? ” 

" Holy Virgin!” said Gurth, setting down the cup, 
" what nectar these unbelieving dogs drink, while true 
Christians are fain to quaff ale as muddy and thick as 
the draff we give to hogs! — What money have I brought 
with me? ” continued the Saxon, when he had finished this 
uncivil ejaculation, " even but a small sum; something in 
hand the whilst. What, Isaac! thou must bear a conscience, 
though it be a Jewish one*.” 

" Nay, but,” said Isaac, " thy master has won goodly 
steeds and rich armours with the strength of his lance, and 
of his right hand — but his a good youth — the Jew will 
take these in present payment, and render him back the 
surplus.” 

" My master has disposed of them already,” said Gurth. 

" Ah ! that was wrong,” said the J ew, " that was the 
part of a fool. No Christians here could buy so many 
horses and armour — no Jew except myself would give him 
half the values. But thou hast a hundred zecchins with 
thee in that bag,” said Isaac, prying under Gurth’s cloak, 
" it is a heavy one.” 

“ I have heads for cross-bow bolts 1 in it,” said Gurth, 
readily. 

"Well, then” — said Isaac, panting and hesitating be- 
tween habitual love of gain and a new-born desire to be 
liberal in the present instance, "if I should say that I 
would take eighty zecchins for the good steed and the rich 
armour, which leaves me not a guilder’s 2 profit, have you 
money to pay me? ” 

"Barely,” said Gurth, though the sum demanded was 
more reasonable than he expected, " and it will leave my 
master nigh penniless. Nevertheless, if such be your least 
offer, I must be content.” 

1 Short, square-headed arrows for use in a cross-bow. 

2 Guelder; a coin worth something less than two shillings. 


IVANI10E 


121 


“ Fill thyself another goblet of wine/ 5 said the Jew. 
“ Ah! eighty zecchins is too little. It leaveth no profit 
for the usages of the moneys; and, besides, the good horse 
may have suffered wrong in this day’s encounter. 0, it 
was a hard and a dangerous meeting! man and steed rush- 
ing on each other like wild hulls of Bashan 1 ! The horse 
cannot hut have had wrong.” 

“ And I say,” replied Gurth, “ he is sound, wind and 
limb; and you may see him now, in your stable. And I 
say, over and above, that seventy zecchins is enough for the 
armour, and I hope a Christian’s word is as good as a 
Jew’s. If you will not take seventy, I will carry this bag ” 
(and he shook it till the contents jingled) “ back to my 
master.” 

“Nay, nay!” said Isaac; “lay down the talents 2 — the 
shekels — the eighty zecchins, and thou shalt see I will 
consider thee liberally.” 

Gurth at length complied; and telling out eighty zec- 
chins upon the table, the Jew delivered out to him an 
acquittance for the horse and suit of armour. The Jew’s 
hand trembled for joy as he wrapped up the first seventy 
pieces of gold. Tlie last ten he told over with much 
deliberation, pausing, and saying something as he took 
each piece from the table, and dropt it into his purse. It 
seemed as if his avarice were struggling with his better 
nature, and compelling him to pouch zecchin after zecchin, 
while his generosity urged him to restore some part at 
least to his benefactor, or as a donation to his agent. His 
whole speech ran nearly thus: 

“ Seventy-one — seventy-two ; thy master is a good youth 
— seventy-three, an excellent youth — seventy-four — that 
piece hath been dipt within the ring 3 — seventy-five — and 
that looketh light of weight — seventy-six — when thy mas- 
ter wants money, let him come to Isaac of York — seventy- 
seven — that is, with reasonable security.” Here he made 
a considerable pause, and Gurth had good hope that the 
last three pieces might escape the fate of their comrades; 

1 Psalms xxii. 12. 

2 A weight and denomination of money among the Hebrews. It is 
here used simply to give a Jewish colouring to Isaac’s talk. 

3 Cut within the true circle; as was often done by coin-clippers 
before coins were milled upon the edge. 


122 


I V AN 110 E 


but the enumeration proceeded . — “ Seventy-eight — thou 
art a good fellow — seventy-nine — and deservest something 
for thyself ■” 

Here the Jew paused again, and looked at the last 
zec-chin, intending, doubtless, to bestow it upon Gurth. He 
weighed it upon the tip of his finger, and made it ring 
by dropping it upon the table. Had it rung too flat, or 
had it felt a hair’s breadth too light, generosity had carried 
the day; but, unhappily for Gurth, the chime was full and 
true, the zecchin plump, newly coined, and a grain above 
weight. Isaac could not find in his heart to part with it, 
so dropt it into his purse as if in absence of mind, with 
the words, “ Eighty completes the tale, and I trust thy 
master will reward thee handsomely. — Surely,” he added, 
looking earnestly at the bag, “ thou hast more coins in that 
pouch ? ” 

Gurth grinned, which was his nearest approach to a 
laugh, as he replied, “ About the same quantity which thou 
hast just told over so carefully.” He then folded the 
quittance, and put it under his cap, adding, — “ Peril of 
thy beard , 1 Jew, see that this be full and ample! ” He 
filled himself, unbidden, a third goblet of wine, and left 
the apartment without ceremony. 

“ Rebecca,” said the J ew, “ that Ishmaelite hath gone 
somewhat beyond me. Nevertheless his master is a good 
youth — ay, and I am well pleased that lie hath gained 
shekels of gold and shekels of silver, even by the speed 
of his horse and by the strength of his lance, which, like 
that of Goliath the Philistine, might vie with a weaver’s 
beam.” 2 

As he turned to receive Rebecca’s answer, he observed 
that, during his chaffering with Gurth, she had left the 
apartment unperceived. 

In the meanwhile, Gurth had descended the stair, and, 
having reached the dark antechamber or hall, was puzzling 
about to discover the entrance, when a figure in white, 
shown by a small silver lamp which she held in her hand, 
beckoned him into a side apartment. Gurth had some 
reluctance to obey the summons. Rough and impetuous 
as a wild boar, where only earthly force was to be appre- 

1 Pulling the beard was considered a deep disgrace. 

3 Samuel xvii. 7. 


/ VAN HOE 


123 


hended, he had all the characteristic terrors of a Saxon 
respecting fauns, forest-fiends, white women , 1 and the 
whole of the superstitions which his ancestors had brought 
with them from the wilds of Germany. He remembered, 
moreover, that he was in the house of a Jew, a people who, 
besides the other unamiable qualities which popular report 
ascribed to them, were supposed to be profound necro- 
mancers 2 and cabalists . 3 Nevertheless, after a moment’s 
pause, he obeyed the beckoning summons of the apparition, 
and followed her into the apartment which she indicated, 
where he found to his joyful surprise that his fair guide 
was the beautiful Jewess whom he had seen at the tourna- 
ment, and a short time in her father’s apartment. 

She asked him the particulars of his transaction with 
Isaac, which he detailed accurately. 

“ My father did but jest with thee, good fellow,” said 
Rebecca; “ he owes thy master deeper kindness than these 
arms and steed could pay, were their value tenfold. What 
sum didst thou pay my father even now? ” 

“ Eighty zecchins,” said Gurth, surprised at the ques- 
tion. 

“ In this purse,” said Rebecca, “ thou wilt find a hun- 
dred. Restore to thy master that which is his due, and 
enrich thyself with the remainder. Haste — begone — stay 
not to render thanks! and beware how you pass through 
this crowded town, where thou mayst easily lose both thy 
burden and thy life. — Reuben,” she added, clapping her 
hands together, “ light forth this stranger, and fail not to 
draw lock and bar behind him.” 

Reuben, a dark-brow’d and black-bearded Israelite, 
obeyed her summons, with a torch in his hand; undid the 
outward door of the house, and conducting Gurth across 
a paved court, let him out through a wicket in the entrance- 
gate, which he closed behind him with such bolts and 
chains as would well have become that of a prison. 

“By St. Dunstan,” said Gurth, as he stumbled up the 
dark avenue, “ this is no Jewess, but an angel from heaven! 

1 White women or white ladies— ghosts of deceased persons— have 
frequently been the object of superstitious dread. See the White Lady 
of Avenel in Scott’s Monastery. 

2 Sorcerers. 

3 Those versed in the mystic philosophy of the Jews. 


124 


1VANH0E 


Ten zecchins from my brave young master — twenty from 
this pearl of Zion — Oh, happy day! — Such another, Gurth, 
will redeem thy bondage, and make thee a brother as free 
of thy guild 1 as the best. And then do I lay down my 
swineherd’s horn and staff, and take the freeman’s sword 
and buckler , 2 and follow my young master to the death, 
without hiding either my face or my name.” 

1 One of the mediaeval societies, binding together members of the 
same trade or profession. The phrase here means “with all the 
rights of a freeman.” 

2 A small round shield. 

[Note the successive stages by which the manly character of Gurth 
is revealed to the reader; also the effective race-contrast between him 
and Isaac. Is anything gained by the reference to the knight’s 
“ perplexed ruminations ” which it is not now “possible to communi- 
cate to the reader ” ? Can you point out any passages where Isaac’s 
talk seems too rhetorical to be altogether natural ?] 


CHAPTER XI 


lsif Outlaw. Stand, sir, and throw us that you have about you; 

If not, we’ll make you sit, and rifle you. 

^ Speed. Sir, we are undone ! these are the villains 
That all the travellers do fear so much. 

Val. My friends, 

Out. That’s not so, sir ; we are your enemies. 

2d Out. Peace ! we’ll hear him. 

3 d Out. Ay, by my beard, will we; 

For he’s a proper man. 

Two Oentlemen of Verona. 

The nocturnal adventures of Gurth were not yet con- 
cluded; indeed, he himself became partly of that mind 
when, after passing one or two straggling houses which 
stood in the outskirts of the village, he found himself in a 
deep lane, running between two banks overgrown with 
hazel and holly, while here and there a dwarf oak flung 
its arms altogether across the path. The lane was more- 
over much rutted and broken up by the carriages which 
had recently transported articles of various kinds to the 
tournament; and it was dark, for the banks and bushes 
intercepted the light of the harvest moon. 

From the village were heard the distant sounds of revelry, 
mixed occasionally with loud laughter, sometimes broken 
by screams, and sometimes by wild strains of distant music. 
All these sounds, intimating the disorderly state of the 
town, crowded with military nobles and their dissolute 
attendants, gave Gurth some uneasiness. “ The Jewess 
was right,” he said to himself. “ By heaven and St. 
Dunstan, I would I were safe at my journey’s end with 
all this treasure! Here are such numbers, I will not say 
of arrant 1 thieves, but of errant 1 knights and errant 
squires, errant monks and errant minstrels, errant jugglers 
and errant jesters, that a man with a single merk 2 would 

1 Arrant, “ notorious ”; it is a variant of errant, “wandering.” 

2 Mark. 


126 


1VANB0E 


be in danger, much more a poor swineherd with a whole 
bagful of zecchins. Would I were out of the shade of 
these infernal bushes, that I might at least see any of St. 
Nicholas’s clerks 1 before they spring on my shoulders.” 

Gurth accordingly hastened his pace, in order to gain 
the open common to which the lane led, but was not so 
fortunate as to accomplish his object. Just as he had 
attained the upper end of the lane, where the underwood 
was thickest, four men sprung upon him, even as his fears 
anticipated, two from each side of the road, and seized 
him so fast that resistance, if at first practicable, would 
have been now too late. — “ Surrender your charge,” said 
one of them; “ we are the deliverers of the commonwealth, 
who ease every man of his burden.” 

“ You should not ease me of mine so lightly,” muttered 
Gurth, whose surly honesty could not be tamed even by 
the pressure of immediate violence , — “ had I it but in my 
power to give three strokes in its defence.” 

“ We shall see that presently,” said the robber; and, 
speaking to his companions, he added, “ bring along the 
knave. I see he would have his head broken, as well as 
his purse cut, and so be let blood in two veins at once.” 

Gurth was hurried along agreeably to this mandate, and 
having been dragged somewhat roughly over the bank, on 
the left-hand side of the lane, found himself in a strag- 
gling thicket, which lay betwixt it and the open common. 
He was compelled to follow his rough conductors into the 
very depth of this cover, where they stopt unexpectedly 
in an irregular open space, free in a great measure from 
trees, and on which, therefore, the beams of the moon fell 
without much interruption from boughs and leaves. Here 
his captors were joined by two other persons, apparently 
belonging to the gang. They had short swords by their 
sides, and quarter-staves in their hands, and Gurth could 
now observe that all six wore visors, which rendered their 
occupation a matter of no question, even had their former 
proceedings left it in doubt. 

“ What money hast thou, churl?” said one of the 
thieves. 

1 Highwaymen were frequently termed Clerks of St. Nicholas (Old 
Nick; Santa Claus), the patron saint of thieves as well as of children. 
See 1 Henry IV, ii, 1, 67. 


IV AN HOE 


127 


“ Thirty zecchins of my own property/’ answered Gurth, 
doggedly. 

“ A forfeit — a forfeit/’ shouted the robbers; “ a Saxon 
hath thirty zecchins, and returns sober from a village! 
An undeniable and unredeemable forfeit of all he hath 
about him.” 

“ I hoarded it to purchase my freedom,” said Gurth. 

“ Thou art an ass,” replied one of the thieves; “ three 
quarts of double 1 ale had rendered thee as free as thy 
master, ay, and freer too, if he be a Saxon like thyself.” 

“ A sad truth,” replied Gurth; “ hut if these same thirty 
zecchins will buy my freedom from you, unloose my hands, 
and I will pay them to you.” 

“ Hold,” said one who seemed to exercise some authority 
over the others; “ this bag which thou bearest, as I can feel 
through thy cloak, contains more coin than thou hast told 
us of.” 

“ It is the good knight my master’s,” answered Gurth, 
<s of which, assuredly, I would not have spoken a word, 
had you been satisfied with working your will upon mine 
own property.” 

“ Thou art an honest fellow,” replied the robber, “ I 
warrant thee; and we worship not St. Nicholas so devoutly 
but what thy thirty zecchins may yet escape, if thou deal 
uprightly with us. Meantime render up thy trust for a 
time.” So saying, he took from Gurth’s breast the large 
leathern pouch, in which the purse given him by Rebecca 
was enclosed, as well as the rest of the zecchins, and then 
continued his interrogation . — “ Who is thy master? ” 

“ The Disinherited Knight,” said Gurth. 

“ Whose good lance,” replied the robber, “ won the 
prize in to-day’s tourney? What is his name and lineage? ” 

“ It is his pleasure,” answered Gurth, “ that they be 
concealed; and from me, assuredly, you will learn nought 
of them.” 

“ What is thine own name and lineage? ” 

“ To tell that,” said Gurth, “ might reveal my master’s.” 

“ Thou art a saucy groom,” said the robber, “ but of 
that anon. How comes thy master by this gold? is it of 
his inheritance, or by what means hath it accrued to him? ” 

“ By his good lance,” answered Gurth . — ■“ These bags 

1 Doubly strong. 


128 


IV AN HOE 


contain the ransom of four good horses, and four good 
suits of armour/’ 

“ How much is there? ” demanded the robber. 

“ Two hundred zecchins.” 

“ Only two hundred zecchins! ” said the bandit; “your 
master hath dealt liberally by the vanquished, and put 
them to a cheap ransom. Name those who paid the gold.” 

Gurth did so. 

“ The armour and horse of the Templar Brian de Bois- 
Guilbert, at what ransom were they held? — Thou seest 
thou canst not deceive me.” 

“ My master,” replied Gurth, “ will take nought from 
the Templar save his life’s-blood. They are on terms of 
mortal defiance, and cannot hold courteous intercourse 
together.” 

“ Indeed! ” — repeated the robber, and paused after he 
had said the word. “ And what wert thou now doing at 
Ashby with such a charge in thy custody? ” 

“I went thither to render to Isaac the Jew of York,” 
replied Gurth, “ the price of a suit of armour with which 
he fitted my master for this tournament.” 

“ And how much didst thou pay to Isaac? — Methinks, to 
judge by weight, there is still two hundred zecchins in this 
pouch.” 

“ I paid to Isaac,” said the Saxon, “ eighty zecchins, 
and he restored me a hundred in lieu thereof.” 

“ How! what! ” exclaimed all the robbers at once; “ dar- 
est thou trifle with us, that thou tellest such improbable 
lies? ” 

“What I tell you,” said Gurth, “ is as true as the moon is 
in heaven. You will find the just sum in a silken purse 
within the leathern pouch, and separate from the rest of 
the gold.” 

“ Bethink thee, man,” said the Captain, “ thou speakest 
of a Jew — of an Israelite, — as unapt to restore gold as the 
dry sand of his deserts to return the cup of water which the 
pilgrim spills upon them.” 

“ There is no more mercy in them,” said another of the 
banditti, “ than in an unbribed sheriff’s officer.” 

“ It is, however, as I say,” said Gurth. 

“ Strike a light instantly,” said the Captain ; “ I will 
examine this said purse; and if it be as this fellow says, 


IVANHOE 


129 


the Jew’s bounty is little less miraculous than the stream 
which relieved his fathers in the wilderness.” 1 

A light was procured accordingly, and the robber pro- 
ceeded to examine the purse. The others crowded around 
him, and even two who had hold of Gurth relaxed their 
grasp while they stretched their necks to see the issue of 
the search. Availing himself of their negligence, by a 
sudden exertion of strength and activity, Gurth shook 
himself free of their hold, and might have escaped, could 
he have resolved to leave his master’s property behind 
him. But such w r as no part of his intention. He 
wrenched a quarter-staff from one of the fellows, struck 
down the Captain, who was altogether unaware of his pur- 
pose, and had wellnigh repossessed himself of the pouch 
and treasure. The thieves, however, were too nimble for 
him, and again secured both the bag and the trusty Gurth. 

“ Knave!” said the Captain, getting up, “ thou hast 
broken my head; and with other men of our sort thou 
wouldst fare the worse for thy insolence. But thou shalt 
know thy fate instantly. First let us speak of thy master; 
the knight’s matters must go before the squire’s, according 
to the due order of chivalry. Stand thou fast in the mean- 
time — if thou stir again, thou shalt have that will make 
thee quiet for thy life. — Comrades! ” he then said, address- 
ing his gang, “ this purse is embroidered with Hebrew 
characters, and I well believe the yeoman’s tale is true. 
The errant knight, his master, must needs pass us toll-free. 
He is too like ourselves for us to make booty of him, since 
dogs should not worry dogs where wolves and foxes are to 
be found in abundance.” 

“Like us?” answered one of the gang; “I should like 
to hear how that is made good.” 

“ Why, thou fool,” answered the Captain, “ is he not 
poor and disinherited as we are? — Doth he not win his 
substance at the sword’s point as we do? — Hath he not 
beaten Front-de-Bceuf and Malvoisin, even as we would 
beat them if we could? Is he not the enemy to life and 
death of Brian de Bois-Guilbert, whom we have so much 
reason to fear? And were all this otherwise, wouldst thou 
have us show a worse conscience than an unbeliever, a 
Hebrew J ew ? ” 


9 


1 Exodus xvii. 1-7. 


130 


I VAN HOE 


“ Nay, that were a shame/’ muttered the other fellow; 
“ and yet, when I served in the band of stout old Gandelyn, 
we had no such scruples of conscience. And this insolent 
peasant, — he too, I warrant me, is to be dismissed scathe- 
less ?” 1 

“Not if thou canst scathe him,” replied the Captain. — 
“ Here, fellow,” continued he, addressing Gurth, “ canst 
thou use the staff, that thou starts to it so readily? ” 

“ I think,” said Gurth, “ thou shouldst be best able to 
reply to that question.” 

“ Nay, by my troth, thou gavest me a round knock,” 
replied the Captain; “ do as much for this fellow, and thou 
shalt pass scot-free 2 ; and if thou dost not — why, by my 
faith, as thou art such a sturdy knave, I think I must pay 
thy ransom myself. — Take thy staff, Miller,” he added, 
“and keep thy head; and do you others let the fellow go, 
and give him a staff — there is light enough to lay on load 3 
by.” 

The two champions being alike armed with quarter- 
staves, stepped forward into the centre of the open space, 
in order to have the full benefit of the moonlight; the 
thieves in the meantime laughing, and crying to their 
comrade, “ Miller! beware thy toll-dish.” 4 The Miller, on 
the other hand, holding his quarter-staff by the middle, 
and making it flourish round his head after the fashion 
which the French call faire le moulinet , 5 exclaimed boast- 
fully, “ Come on, churl, an thou darest: thou shalt feel 
the strength of a miller’s thumb 6 ! ” 

“ If thou be’st a miller,” answered Gurth, undauntedly, 
making his weapon play around his head with equal dex- 
terity, “ thou art doubly a thief, and I, as a true man, bid 
thee defiance.” 

So saying, the two champions closed together, and for a 
few minutes they displayed great equality in strength, 
courage, and skill, intercepting and returning the blows of 
their adversary with the most rapid dexterity, while, from 

1 Without harm; see the line below. 2 Tax-free; safe. 

3 To hit hard; to belabour. 

4 A jocose expression for the miller’s head. 

5 “To play the windmill a term also used in sabre practice. 

6 A miller’s thumb is supposed to grow very skilful in sampling 
meal, etc., and was often the object of mediaeval jokes about the mil- 
ler’s dishonesty.. See Chaucer’s Prologue, \, 563, 


IV AN HOE 


131 


the continued clatter of their weapons, a person at a dis- 
tance might have supposed that there were at least six 
persons engaged on each side. Less obstinate, and even 
less dangerous combats, have been described in good 
heroic verse 1 ; but that of Gurth and the Miller must re- 
main unsung, for want of a sacred poet 2 to do justice to 
its eventful progress. Yet, though quarter-staff play be 
out of date, what we can in prose we will do for these bold 
champions. 

Long they fought equally, until the Miller began to lose 
temper at finding himself so stoutly opposed, and at hear- 
ing the laughter of his companions, who, as usual in such 
cases, enjoyed his vexation. This was not a state of mind 
favourable to the noble game of quarter-staff, in which, 
as in ordinary cudgel-playing , 3 the utmost coolness is 
requisite; and it gave Gurth, whose temper was steady, 
though surly, the opportunity of acquiring a decided ad- 
vantage, in availing himself of which he displayed great 
mastery. 

The Miller pressed furiously forward, dealing blows 
with either end of his weapon alternately, and striving to 
come to half-staff distance, while Gurth defended himself 
against the attack, keeping his hands about a yard asunder, 
and covering himself by shifting his weapon with great 
celerity, so as to protect his head and body. Thus did he 
maintain the defensive, making his eye, foot, and hand 
keep true time, until, observing his antagonist to lose wind, 
he darted the staff at his face with his left hand; and, as 
the Miller endeavoured to parry the thrust, he slid his 
right hand down to his left, and with the full swing of the 
weapon struck his opponent on the left side of the head, 
who instantly measured his length upon the green sward. 

“ Well and yeomanly done! ” shouted the robbers; “ fair 
play and Old England for ever! The Saxon hath saved 
both his purse and his hide, and the Miller has met his 
match/’ 

“ Thou mayst go thy ways, my friend,” said the Captain, 

1 The characteristic measures of epic poetry, like the hexameter, or 
the ten-syllabled iambic couplet. 

2 Horace’s Odes, iv, 9, 28. 

3 A contest similar to that with the quarter-staff, except , that the 
stick is shorter and wielded with one hand. 


132 


IV AN HOE 


addressing Gurth, in special confirmation of the general 
voice, “ and I will cause two of my comrades to guide thee 
by the best way to thy master’s pavilion, and to guard thee 
from night-walkers that might have less tender consciences 
than ours; for there is many one of them upon the amble 
in such a night as this. Take heed, however,” he added 
sternly; “ remember thou hast refused to tell thy name — 
ask not after ours, nor endeavour to discover who or what 
we are; for, if thou makest such an attempt, thou wilt 
come, by worse fortune than has yet befallen thee.” 

Gurth thanked the Captain for his courtesy, and prom- 
ised to attend to his recommendation. Two of the outlaws, 
taking up their quarter-staves, and desiring Gurth to follow 
close in the rear, walked roundly forward along a by-path, 
which traversed the thicket and the broken ground ad- 
jacent to it. On the very verge of the thicket two men 
spoke to his conductors, and receiving an answer in a 
whisper, withdrew into the wood, and suffered them to 
pass unmolested. This circumstance induced Gurth to 
believe both that the gang was strong in numbers, and that 
they kept regular guards around their place of rendezvous. 1 

When they arrived on the open heath, where Gurth 
might have had some trouble in finding his road, the 
thieves guided him straight forward to the top of a little 
eminence, whence he could see, spread beneath him in the 
moonlight, the palisades of the lists, the glimmering pavil- 
ions pitched at either end, with the pennons which adorned 
them fluttering in the moonbeams, and from which could 
he heard the hum of the song with which the sentinels were 
beguiling their night-watch. 

Here the thieves stopt. 

“We go with you no farther,” said they; “it were not 
safe that we should do so. — Remember the warning you 
have received — keep secret what has this night befallen 
you, and you will have no room to repent it — neglect what 
is now told you, and the Tower of London 2 shall not pro- 
tect you against our revenge.” 

“ Good night to you, kind sirs,” said Gurth; “ I shall 

1 Meeting. 

2 The famous palace-citadel of London, consisting of a number of 
buildings, the oldest of which date from William the Conqueror. It 
is now used as a government storehouse and arsenal. 


IVANHOE 


133 


remember your orders, and trust that there is no offence 
in wishing you a safer and an hon ester trade.” 

Thus they parted, the outlaws returning in the direction 
from whence they had come, and Gurth proceeding to the 
tent of his master, to whom, notwithstanding the injunc- 
tion he had received, he communicated the whole adven- 
tures of the evening. 

The Disinherited Knight was filled with astonishment, 
no less at the generosity of Rebecca, by which, however, he 
resolved he would not profit, than that of the robbers, to 
whose profession such a quality seemed totally foreign. 
His course of reflections upon these singular circumstances 
was, however, interrupted by the necessity for taking re- 
pose, which the fatigue of the preceding day, and the 
propriety of refreshing himself for the morrow’s encounter, 
rendered alike indespensable. 

The knight, therefore, stretched himself for repose upon 
a rich couch with which the tent was provided; and the 
faithful Gurth, extending his hardy limbs upon a bear- 
skin which formed a sort of carpet to the pavilion, laid 
himself across the opening of the tent, so that no one could 
enter without awakening him. 

[The forest scene delineated in Chapter xi furnishes a sort of 
comic interlude, midway in the eight chapters that centre around the 
tournament at Ashby. What are the devices by which Scott secures 
our respect for Gurth and also for the outlaws? What were the ele- 
ments in Scott’s nature, as far as you understand it, that would make 
the writing of a chapter like this a thoroughly congenial task to 
him?] 


CHAPTER XII 


The heralds left their pricking up and down, 

Now ringen trumpets loud and clarion. 

There is no more to say, but east and west, 

In go the speares sadly in the rest, 

In goth the sharp spur into the side, 

There see men who can just and who can ride; 

There shiver shaftes upon shieldes thick, 

He feeleth through the heart-spone the prick; 

Up springen speares, twenty feet in height, 

Out go the swordes to the silver bright ; 

The helms they to-hewn and to-shred; 

Out burst the blood with stern streames red. 

Chaucer. 

Morning arose in unclouded splendour, and ere the sun 
was much above the horizon, the idlest or the most eager 
of the spectators appeared on the common, moving to the 
lists as to a general centre, in order to secure a favourable 
situation for viewing the continuation of the expected 
games. 

The marshals and their attendants appeared next on the 
field, together with the heralds, for the purpose of receiv- 
ing the names of the knights who intended to joust, with 
the side which each chose to espouse. This was a necessary 
precaution, in order to secure equality betwixt the two 
bodies who should be opposed to each other. 

According to due formality, the Disinherited Knight 
was to be considered as leader of the one body, while Brian 
de Bois-Guilbert, who had been rated as having done 
second-best in the preceding day, was named first champion 
of the other band. Those who had concurred in the chal- 
lenge adhered to his party of course, excepting only Ralph 
de Vipont, whom his fall had rendered unfit so soon to put 
on his armour. There was no want of distinguished and 
noble candidates to fill up the ranks on either side. 

In fact, although the general tournament, in which all 
knights fought at once, was more dangerous than single 


IVANIIOE 


135 


encounters, they were, nevertheless, more frequented and 
practised by the chivalry of the age. Many knights, who 
had not sufficient confidence in their own skill to defy a 
single adversary of high reputation, were, nevertheless, 
desirous of displaying their valour in the general combat, 
where they might meet others with whom they were more 
upon an equality. On the present occasion, about fifty 
knights were inscribed as desirous of combating upon each 
side, when the marshals declared that no more could be 
admitted, to the disappointment of several who were too 
late in preferring their claim to be included. 

About the hour of ten o’clock, the whole plain was 
crowded with horsemen, horsewomen, and foot-passengers, 
hastening to the tournament; and shortly after, a grand 
flourish of trumpets announced Prince John and his reti- 
nue, attended by many of those knights who meant to take 
share in the game, as well as others who had no such inten- 
tion. 

About the same time arrived Cedric the Saxon, with the 
Lady Rowena, unattended, however, by Athelstane. This 
Saxon lord had arrayed his tall and strong person in 
armour, in order to take his place among the combatants; 
and, considerably to the surprise of Cedric, had chosen to 
enlist himself on the part of the Knight Templar. The 
Saxon, indeed, had remonstrated strongly with his friend 
upon the injudicious choice he had made of his party; but 
he had only received that sort of answer usually given by 
those who are more obstinate in following their own course 
than strong in justifying it. 

His best, if not his only reason, for adhering to the party 
of Brian de Bois-Guilbert, Athelstane had the prudence to 
keep to himself. Though his apathy of disposition pre- 
vented his taking any means to recommend himself to 
the Lady Rowena, he was, nevertheless, by no means insen- 
sible to her charms, and considered his union with her as a 
matter already fixed beyond doubt, by the assent of Cedric 
and her other friends. It had therefore been with smoth- 
ered displeasure that the proud though indolent Lord of 
Coningsburgh beheld the victor of the preceding day select 
Rowena as the object of that honour which it became his 
privilege to confer. In order to punish him for a prefer- 
ence which seemed to interfere with his own suit, Athel- 


136 


IVANIIOE 


stane, confident of his strength, and to whom his flatterers, 
at least, ascribed great skill in arms, had determined not 
only to deprive the Disinherited Knight of his powerful 
succour, but, if an opportunity should occur, to make him 
feel the weight of his battle-axe. 

De Bracy, and other knights attached to Prince J ohn, in 
obedience to a hint from him, had joined the party of 
the challengers, John being desirous to secure, if possible, 
the victory to that side. On the other hand, many other 
knights, both English and Norman, natives and strangers, 
took part against the challengers, the more readily that the 
opposite band was to be led by so distinguished a champion 
as the Disinherited Knight had approved himself. 

As soon as Prince John observed that the destined Queen 
of the day had arrived upon the field, assuming that air 
of courtesy which sat well upon him when he was pleased 
to exhibit it, he rode forward to meet her, doffed his 
bonnet, and, alighting from his horse, assisted the Lady 
Rowena from her saddle, while his followers uncovered at 
the same time, and one of the most distinguished dis- 
mounted to hold her palfrey. 

“ It is thus/’ said Prince J ohn, “ that we set the dutiful 
example of loyalty to the Queen of Love and Beauty, and 
are ourselves her guide to the throne which she must this 
day occupy. — Ladies,” he said, “ attend your Queen, as you 
wish in your turn to be distinguished by like honours.” 

So saying, the Prince marshalled Rowena to the seat of 
honour opposite his own, while the fairest and most dis- 
tinguished ladies present crowded after her to obtain places 
as near as possible to their temporary sovereign. 

No sooner was Rowena seated than a burst of music, 
half-drowned by the shouts of the multitude, greeted her 
new dignity. Meantime, the sun shone fierce and bright 
upon the polished arms of the knights of either side, who 
crowded the opposite extremities of the lists, and held 
eager conference together concerning the best mode of 
arranging their line of battle, and supporting the conflict. 

The heralds then proclaimed silence until the laws of the 
tourney should be rehearsed. These were calculated in 
some degree to abate the dangers of the day; a precaution 
the more necessary, as the conflict was to be maintained 
with sharp swords and pointed lances. 


IVANHOE 


137 


The champions were therefore prohibited to thrust with 
the sword, and were confined to striking. A knight, it 
was announced, might use a mace 1 or battle-axe at pleas- 
ure, but the dagger was a prohibited weapon. A knight 
unhorsed might renew the fight on foot with any other 
on the opposite side in the same predicament; but mounted 
horsemen were in that case forbidden to assail him. When 
any knight could force his antagonist to the extremity of 
the lists, so as to touch the palisade with his person or 
arms, such opponent was obliged to yield himself van- 
quished, and his armour and horse were placed at the dis- 
posal of the conqueror. A knight thus overcome was not 
permitted to take farther share in the combat. If any 
combatant was struck down, and unable to recover his feet, 
his squire or page might enter the lists, and drag his master 
out of the press; but in that case the knight was adjudged 
vanquished, and his arms and horse declared forfeited. 
The combat was to cease as soon as Prince John should 
throw down his leading staff, or truncheon; another pre- 
caution usually taken to prevent the unnecessary effusion 
of blood by the too long endurance of a sport so desperate. 
Any knight breaking the rules of the tournament, or other- 
wise transgressing the rules of honourable chivalry, was 
liable to be stript of his arms, and, having his shield re- 
versed , 2 to be placed in that posture astride upon the bars 
of the palisade, and exposed to public derision, in punish- 
ment of his unknightly conduct. Having announced 
these precautions, the heralds concluded with an exhorta- 
tion to each good knight to do his duty, and to merit favour 
from the Queen of Beauty and of Love. 

This proclamation having been made, the heralds with- 
drew to their stations. The knights, entering at either end 
of the lists in long procession, arranged themselves in a 
double file, precisely opposite to each other, the leader of 
each party being in the centre of the foremost rank, a post 
which he did not occupy until each had carefully mar- 
shalled the ranks of his party, and stationed every one in 
his place. 

It was a goodly, and at the same time an anxious, sight, 

1 A short, heavy-headed — often spiked — weapon, wielded with one 
hand. Its special use was to break armour. 

2 Facing in a position contrary to its usual one. 


138 


IVANHOE 


to behold so many gallant champions, mounted bravely, 
and armed richly, stand ready prepared for an encounter 
so formidable, seated on their war-saddles like so many 
jfillars of iron, and awaiting the signal of encounter with 
the same ardour as their generous steeds, which, by neigh- 
ing and pawing the ground, gave signal of their im- 
patience. 

As yet the knights held their long lances upright, their 
bright points glancing to the sun, and the streamers with 
which they were decorated fluttering over the plumage 
of the helmets. Thus they remained while the marshals 
of the field surveyed their ranks with the utmost exactness, 
lest either party had more or fewer than the appointed 
number. The tale was found exactly complete. The 
marshals then withdrew from the lists, and William de 
Wyvil, with a voice of thunder, pronounced the signal 
words — Laissez aller ! 1 The trumpets sounded as he 
spoke — the spears of the champions were at once lowered 
and placed in the rests — the spurs were dashed into the 
flanks of the horses, and the two foremost ranks of either 
party rushed upon each other in full gallop, and met in 
the middle of the lists with a shock, the sound of which 
was heard at a mile’s distance. The rear rank of each 
party advanced at a slower pace to sustain the defeated, 
and follow up the success of the victors of their party. 

The consequences of the encounter were not instantly 
seen, for the dust raised by the trampling of so many steeds 
darkened the air, and it was a minute ere the anxious 
spectator could see the fate of the encounter. When the 
fight became visible, half the knights on each side were 
dismounted, some by the dexterity of their adversary’s 
lance, — some by the superior w r eight and strength of oppo- 
nents, which had borne down both horse and man; some 
lay stretched on earth as if never more to rise, — some had 
already gained their feet, and were closing hand to hand 
with those of their antagonists who were in the same pre- 
dicament, — and several on both sides, who had received 
wounds by which they were disabled, were stopping their 
blood by their scarfs, and endeavouring to extricate them- 
selves from the tumult. The mounted knights, whose lances 
had been almost all broken by the fury of the encounter, 

1 Let go ! 


IVAN1I0E 


139 


were now closely engaged with their swords, shouting their 
war-cries, and exchanging buffets, as if honour and life 
depended on the issue of the combat. 

The tumult was presently increased by the advance of 
the second rank on either side, which, acting as a reserve, 
now rushed on to aid their companions. The followers of 
Brian de Bois-Guilbert shouted — “Ila ! Beau-seant ! Beau- 
seant /* — For the Temple — For the Temple! ” The oppo- 
site party shouted in answer — “Desdichado! Desdichado !” 
— which watch-word they took from the motto upon their 
leader’s shield. 

The champions thus encountering each other with the 
utmost fury, and with alternate success, the tide of battle 
seemed to flow now toward the southern, now toward the 
northern extremity of the lists, as the one or the other 
party prevailed. Meantime the clang of the blows and the 
shouts of the combatants mixed fearfully with the sound 
of the trumpets, and drowned the groans of those who 
fell, and lay rolling defenceless beneath the feet of the 
horses. The splendid armour of the combatants was now 
defaced with dust and blood, and gave way at every stroke * 
of the sword and battle-axe. The gay plumage, shorn 
from the crests, drifted upon the breeze like snow-flakes. 
All that was beautiful and graceful in the martial array 
had disappeared, and what was now visible was only cal- 
culated to awake terror or compassion. 

Yet such is the force of habit, that not only the vulgar 
spectators, who are naturally attracted by sights of horror, 
hut even the ladies of distinction, who crowded the 
galleries, saw the conflict with a thrilling interest certainly, 
but without a wish to withdraw their eyes from a sight so 
terrible. Here and there, indeed, a fair cheek might turn 
pale, or a faint scream might be heard, as a lover, a brother, 
or a husband, was struck from his horse. But, in general, 
the ladies around encouraged the combatants, not only by 
clapping their hands and waving their veils and kerchiefs, 
hut even by exclaiming, “ Brave lance! Good sword!” 
when any successful thrust or blow took place under their 
observation. 

* Beau-scant was the name of the Templars’ banner, which was half 
black, half white, to intimate, it is said, that they were candid and fair 
towards Christians, but black and terrible towards infidels. [Scott.] 


140 


IVANHOE 


Such being the interest taken by the fair sex in this 
bloody game, that of the men is the more easily understood. 
It showed itself in loud acclamations upon every change 
of fortune, while all eyes were so riveted on the lists, that 
the spectators seemed as if they themselves had dealt and 
received the blows which were there so freely bestowed. 
And between every pause was heard the voice of the 
heralds, exclaiming, “ Fight on, brave knights! Man dies, 
but glory lives! — Fight on — death is better than defeat! — 
Fight on, brave knights! — for bright eyes behold your 
deeds! ” 

Amid the varied fortunes of the combat, the eyes of all 
endeavoured to discover the leaders of each band, who, 
mingling in the thick of the fight, encouraged their com- 
panions both by voice and example. Both displayed great 
feats of gallantry, nor did either Bois-Guilbert or the Dis- 
inherited Knight find in the ranks opposed to them a 
champion who could be termed their unquestioned match. 
They repeatedly endeavoured to single out each other, 
spurred by mutual animosity, and aware that the fall of 
either leader might be considered as decisive of victory. 
Such, however, was the crowd and confusion, that, during 
the earlier part of the conflict, their efforts to meet were 
unavailing, and they were repeatedly separated by the 
eagerness of their followers, each of whom was anxious to 
wfin honour, by measuring his strength against the leader 
of the opposite party. 

But when the field became thin by the numbers on either 
side who had yielded themselves vanquished, had been 
compelled to the extremity of the lists, or been otherwise 
rendered incapable of continuing the strife, the Templar 
and the Disinherited Knight at length encountered hand 
to hand, with all the fury that mortal animosity, joined to 
rivalry of honour, could inspire. Such was the address of 
each in parrying and striking, that the spectators broke 
forth into a unanimous and involuntary shout, expressive 
of their delight and admiration. 

But at this moment the party of the Disinherited Knight 
had the worst; the gigantic arm of Front-de-Bceuf on the 
one flank, and the ponderous strength of Athelstane on the 
other, bearing down and dispersing those immediately 
exposed to them. Finding themselves freed from their 


IVANHOE 


141 


immediate antagonists, it seems to have occurred to both 
these knights at the same instant that they would render 
the most decisive advantage to their party by aiding the 
Templar in his contest with his rival. Turning their 
horses, therefore, at the same moment, the Norman spurred 
against the Disinherited Knight on the one side, and the 
Saxon on the other. It was utterly impossible that the 
object of this unequal and unexpected assault could have 
sustained it, had he not been warned by a general cry from 
the spectators, who could not but take interest in one ex- 
posed to such disadvantage. 

“ Beware! beware! Sir Disinherited!” was shouted so 
universally, that the knight became aware of his danger; 
and, striking a full blow at the Templar, he reined back 
his steed in the same moment, so as to escape the charge of 
Athelstane and Front-de-Bceuf. These knights, therefore, 
their aim being thus eluded, rushed from opposite sides 
betwixt the object of their attack and the Templar, al- 
most running their horses against each other ere they 
could stop their career. Recovering their horses, however, 
and wheeling them round, the whole three pursued their 
united purpose of bearing to the earth the Disinherited 
Knight. 

Nothing could have saved him, except the remarkable 
strength and activity of the noble horse which he had won 
on the preceding day. 

This stood him in the more stead, as the horse of Bois- 
Guilbert was wounded, and those of Front-cle-Boeuf and 
Athelstane were both tired with the weight of their gigan- 
tic masters, clad in complete armour, and with the preced- 
ing exertions of the day. The masterly horsemanship of 
the Disinherited Knight, and the activity of the noble 
animal which he mounted, enabled him for a few minutes 
to keep at sword’s point his three antagonists, turning and 
wheeling with the agility of a hawk upon the wing, keeping 
his enemies as far separate as he could, and rushing now^ 
against the one, now against the other, dealing sweeping 
blows with his sword, without waiting to receive those 
which were aimed at him in return. 

But although the lists rang with the applauses of his 
dexterity, it was evident that he must at last be over- 
powered; and the nobles around Prince John implored him 


142 


IVANHOE 


with one voice to throw down his warder/ and to save so 
brave a knight from the disgrace of being overcome by 
odds. 

“Not I, by the light of Heaven!” answered Prince 
John; “ this same springal , 1 2 who conceals his name, and 
despises our proffered hospitality, hath already gained one 
prize, and may now afford to let others have their turn.” 
As he spoke thus, an unexpected incident changed the 
fortune of the day. 

There was among the ranks of the Disinherited Knight a 
champion in black armour, mounted on a black horse, large 
of size, tall, and to all appearance powerful and strong, 
like the rider by whom he was mounted. This knight, 
who bore on his shield no device of any land, had hitherto 
evinced very little interest in the event of the fight, beating 
off with seeming ease those combatants who attacked him, 
but neither pursuing his advantages nor himself assailing 
any one. In short, he had hitherto acted the part rather 
of a spectator than of a party in the tournament, a circum- 
stance w r hich procured him among the spectators the name 
of Le Noir Faineant, or the Black Sluggard. 

At once this knight seemed to throw aside his apathy, 
when he discovered the leader of his party so hard be- 
stead; for, setting spurs to his horse, which was quite 
fresh, he came to his assistance like a thunderbolt, exclaim- 
ing, in a voice like a trumpet-call, “ Desdicliado, to the 
rescue! ” It was high time; for, while the Disinherited 
Knight was pressing upon the Templar, Front-de-Boeuf 
had got nigh to him with his uplifted sword; but ere the 
blow could descend, the Sable Knight dealt a stroke on his 
head, which, glancing from the polished helmet, lighted 
with violence scarcely abated on the chamfron 3 of the 
steed, and Front-de-Boeuf rolled on the ground, both horse 
and man equally stunned by the fury of the blow. Le Noir 
Faineant then turned his horse upon Athelstane of 
Ooningsburgh; and his own sword having been broken in 
his encounter with Front-de-Boeuf, he wrenched from the 
hand of the bulky Saxon the battle-axe which he wielded, 

1 To throw down the truncheon or staff of command was the signal 
to stay proceedings. 

2 Youngster. 

3 The frontlet, or armour protecting the horse’s head. 


IVANHOE 


143 


and, like one familiar with the nse of the weapon, bestowed 
him such a blow upon the crest that Athelstane also lay 
senseless on the field. Having achieved this double feat, 
for which he was the more highly applauded that it was 
totally unexpected from him, the knight seemed to resume 
the sluggishness of his character, returning calmly to the 
northern extremity of the lists, leaving his leader to cope 
as he best could with Brian de Bois-Guilbert. This was no 
longer matter of so much difficulty as formerly. The 
Templar’s horse had bled much, and gave way under the 
shock of the Disinherited Knight’s charge. Brian de Bois- 
Guilbert rolled on the field, encumbered with the stirrup, 
from which he was unable to draw his foot. His antagonist 
sprung from horseback, waved his fatal sword over the 
head of his adversary, and commanded him to yield him- 
self; when Prince John, more moved by the Templar’s 
dangerous situation than he had been by that of his rival, 
saved him the mortification of confessing himself van- 
quished, by casting down his warder, and putting an end to 
the conflict. 

It was, indeed, only the relics and embers of the fight 
which continued to burn; for of the few knights who still 
continued in the lists, the greater part had, by tacit con- 
sent, forborne the conflict for some time, leaving it to be 
determined by the strife of the leaders. 

The squires, who had found it a matter of danger and 
difficulty to attend their masters during the engagement, 
now thronged into the lists to pay their dutiful attendance 
to the wounded, who were removed with the utmost care 
and attention to the neighbouring pavilions, or to the 
quarters prepared for them in the adjoining village. 

Thus ended the memorable field of Ashby-de-la-Zouche, 
one of the most gallantly contested tournaments of that 
age; for although only four knights, including one who 
was smothered by the heat of his armour, had died upon 
the field, yet upwards of thirty were desperately wounded, 
four or five of whom never recovered. Several more were 
disabled for life; and those who escaped best carried the 
marks of the conflict to the grave with them. Hence it is 
always mentioned in the old records as the Gentle and 
Joyous Passage of Arms of Ashby. 

It being now the duty of Prince John to name the 


144 


IV AN 110 E 


knight who had done best, he determined that the honour 
of the day remained with the knight whom the popular 
voice had termed Le Noir Faineant. It was pointed out 
to the Prince, in impeachment of this decree, that the 
victory had been in fact won by the Disinherited Knight, 
who, in the course of the day, had overcome six champions 
with his own hand, and who had finally unhorsed and 
struck down the leader of the opposite party. But Prince 
John adhered to his own opinion, on the ground that the 
Disinherited Knight and his party had lost the day hut 
for the powerful assistance of the Knight of the Black 
Armour, to whom, therefore, he persisted in awarding 
the prize. 

To the surprise of all present, however, the knight thus 
preferred was nowhere to be found. He had left the lists 
immediately when the conflict ceased, and had been ob- 
served by some spectators to move down one of the forest 
glades with the same slow pace and listless and indifferent 
manner which had procured him the epithet of the Black 
Sluggard. After he had been summoned twice b} r sound 
of trumpet, and proclamation of the heralds, it became 
necessary to name another to receive the honours which 
had been assigned to him. Prince John had now no 
further excuse for resisting the claim of the Disinherited 
Knight, whom, therefore, he named the champion of the 
day. 

Through a field slippery with blood, and encumbered 
with broken armour and the bodies of slain and wounded 
horses, the marshals of the lists again conducted the victor 
to the foot of Prince J ohms throne. 

“ Disinherited Knight,” said Prince John, “ since by 
that title only you will consent to be known to us, we a 
second time award to you the honours of this tournament, 
and announce to you your right to claim and receive from 
the hands of the Queen of Love and Beauty, the Chaplet 
of Honour which your valour has justly deserved.” The 
Knight bowed low and gracefully, but returned no answer. 

While the trumpets sounded, while the heralds strained 
their voices in proclaiming honour to the brave and glory 
to the victor — while ladies waved their silken kerchiefs and 
embroidered veils, and while all ranks joined in a clamor- 
ous shout of exultation, the marshals conducted the Dis- 


IVANHOE 145 

inherited Knight across the lists to the foot of that throne 
of honour which was occupied by the Lady Rowena. 

On the lower step of this throne the champion was made 
to kneel down. Indeed, his whole action since the fight 
had ended, seemed rather to have been upon the impulse 
of those around him than from his own free will; and it 
was observed that he tottered as they guided him the 
second time across the lists. Rowena, descending from her 
station with a graceful and dignified step, was about to 
place the chaplet which she held in her hand upon the 
helmet of the champion, when the marshals exclaimed 
with one voice, “ It must not be thus — his head must be 
bare.” The knight muttered faintly a few words, which 
were lost in the hollow of his helmet, but their purport 
seemed to be a desire that his casque might not be removed. 

Whether from love of form, or from curiosity, the mar- 
shals paid no attention to his expressions of reluctance, 
but unhelmed him by cutting the laces of his casque, and 
undoing the fastening of his gorget. When the helmet 
was removed, the well-formed, yet sun-burnt features of a 
young man of twenty-five were seen, amidst a profusion of 
short fair hair. His countenance was as pale as death, 
and marked in one or two places with streaks of blood. 

Rowena had no sooner beheld him than she uttered a 
faint shriek; but at once summoning up the energy of her 
disposition, and compelling herself, as it were, to proceed, 
while her frame yet trembled with the violence of sudden 
emotion, she placed upon the drooping head of the victor 
the splendid chaplet which was the destined reward of the 
day, and pronounced, in a clear and distinct tone, these 
words: “I bestow on thee this chaplet, Sir Knight, as the 
meed 1 of valour assigned to this day’s victor.” Here she 
paused a moment, and then firmly added, “ And upon 
brows more worthy could a wreath of chivalry never be 
placed! ” 

The knight stooped his head, and kissed the hand of the 
lovely Sovereign by whom his valour had been rewarded; 
and then, sinking yet farther forward, lay prostrate at her 
feet. 

There was a general consternation. Cedric, who had 
been struck mute by the sudden appearance of his banished 

1 Reward. 


10 


146 


IVANIIOE 


son, now rushed forward, as if to separate him from 
Rowena. But this had been already accomplished by the 
marshals of the field, who, guessing the cause of Ivanhoe’s 
swoon, had hastened to undo his armour, and found that 
the head of a lance had penetrated his breastplate, and 
inflicted a wound in his side. 

[The foregoing chapter is one of the most famous in English 
fiction, and will repay the closest study. Note that the unlooked-for 
prowess of the Black Knight and the discovery of the identity of the 
Disinherited Knight furnish it with two distinct points of climax. 
In the first of these, what is gained by the unexpectedness of the 
incident ? Can you recall similar feats of arms as described by other 
novelists ? If you find Scott superior as a describe!* of such things, 
in what points does his superiority seem to you to lie ? Does the 
dropping of Ivanhoe’s disguise suggest anything to you about the 
danger of over-using disguise as an element of interest in fiction ? 
Does Scott altogether escape the danger in The Talisman, The Abbot, 
and elsewhere ?] 


CHAPTER XIII 


“ Heroes, approach ! ” Atrides thus aloud, 

“ Stand forth distinguish’d from the circling crowd, 

Ye who by skill or manly force may claim, 

Your rivals to surpass and merit fame. 

This cow, worth twenty oxen, is decreed, 

For him who farthest sends the winged reed.” 

Iliad. 

The name of Ivanhoe was no sooner pronounced than 
it flew from mouth to mouth, with all the celerity with 
which eagerness could convey and curiosity receive it. It 
was not long ere it reached the circle of the Prince, whose 
brow darkened as he heard the news. Looking around 
him, however, with an air of scorn, “ My Lords, ” said he, 
“ and especially you, Sir Prior, what think ye of the doc- 
trine the learned tell us, concerning innate attractions and 
antipathies? Methinks that I felt the presence of my 
brother’s minion, even when I least guessed whom yonder 
suit of armour enclosed.” 

“ Front-de-Boeuf must prepare to restore his fief 1 of 
Ivanhoe,” said De Bracy, who, having discharged his part 
honourably in the tournament, had laid his shield and 
helmet aside, and again mingled with the Prince’s retinue. 

“ Ay,” answered Waldemar Fitzurse, “ this gallant is 
likely to reclaim the castle and manor which Richard 
assigned to him, and which your Highness’s generosity has 
since given to Front-de-Boeuf.” 

“ Front-de-Boeuf,” replied John, “ is a man more willing 
to swallow three manors such as Ivanhoe, than to disgorge 
one of them. For the rest, sirs, I hope none here will 
deny my right to confer the fiefs of the crown upon the 
faithful followers who are around me, and ready to perform 
the usual military service, in the room of those who have 

1 Lands held by feudal tenure, i.e., on condition of military or 
other service to the ruler. 


148 


IV AN HOE 


wandered to foreign countries, and can neither render 
homage nor service when called upon/’ 

The audience were too much interested in the question 
not to pronounce the Prince’s assumed right altogether in- 
dubitable. “ A generous Prince! — a most noble Lord, who 
thus takes upon himself the task of rewarding his faithful 
followers! ” 

Such were the words which burst from the train, ex- 
pectants all of them of similar grants at the expense of 
King Richard’s followers and favourites, if indeed they had 
not as yet received such. Prior Aymer also assented to 
the general proposition, observing, however, “ That the 
blessed Jerusalem could not indeed be termed a foreign 
country. She was communis mater — the mother of all 
Christians. But he saw not,” he declared, “ how the 
Knight of Ivanhoe could plead any advantage from this, 
since he ” (the Prior) “ was assured that the crusaders, 
under Richard, had never proceeded much farther than 
Askalon , 1 which, as all the world knew, was a town of the 
Philistines, and entitled to none of the privileges of the 
Holy City.” 

Waldemar, whose curiosity had led him towards the 
place where Ivanhoe had fallen to the ground, now re- 
turned. “ The gallant,” said he, “ is likely to give your 
Highness little disturbance, and to leave Front-de-Boeuf 
in the quiet possession of his gains — he is severely 
wounded.” 

“ Whatever becomes of him,” said Prince John, “he is 
victor of the day; and were he tenfold our enemy, or the 
devoted friend of our brother, which is perhaps the same, 
his wounds must be looked to — our own physician shall 
attend him.” 

A stem smile curled the Prince’s lip as he spoke. Walde- 
mar Fitzurse hastened to reply that Ivanhoe was already 
removed from the lists, and in the custody of his friends. 

“ I was somewhat afflicted,” he said, “ to see the grief 
of the Queen of Love and Beauty, whose sovereignty of a 
day this event has changed into mourning. I am not a 
man to be moved by a woman’s lament for her lover, but 
this same Lady Rowena suppressed her sorrow with such 

1 One of the five chief cities of the Philistines on the Mediterranean. 
It was taken by the Crusaders in 1153, and by Saladin in 1187. 


IVANHOE 


149 


clignit}^ of manner that it could only be discovered by her 
folded hands, and her tearless eye, which trembled as it 
remained fixed on the lifeless form before her.” 

u Who is this Lady Rowena,” said Prince John, “ of 
whom we have heard so much ? ” 

“ A Saxon heiress of large possessions,” replied the Prior 
Aymer; “a rose of loveliness, and a jewel of wealth; the 
fairest among a thousand, a bundle of myrrh, and a cluster 
of camphire.” 1 

“We shall cheer her sorrows,” said Prince John, “and 
amend her blood, by wedding her to a Norman. She seems 
a minor, and must therefore be at our royal disposal in 
marriage. — How sayst thou, De Bracy? What thinkst thou 
of gaining fair lands and livings, by wedding a Saxon, after 
the fashion of the followers of the Conqueror? ” 

“ If the lands are to my liking, my lord,” answered De 
Bracy, “ it will be hard to displease me with a bride; and 
deeply will I hold myself bound to your highness for a 
good deed, which will fulfil all promises made in favour 
of your servant and vassal.” 

“ We will not forget it,” said Prince John; “ and that we 
may instantly go to work, command our seneschal presently 
to order the attendance of the Lady Rowena and her com- 
pany — that is, the rude churl her guardian, and the Saxon 
ox whom the Black Knight struck down in the tournament, 
upon this evening’s banquet. — De Bigot,” he added to his 
seneschal, “ thou wilt word this our second summons so 
courteously as to gratify the pride of these Saxons, and 
make it impossible for them again to refuse; although, by 
the bones of Becket , 2 courtesy to them is casting pearls 
before swine.” 

Prince John had proceeded thus far, and was about to 
give the signal for retiring from the lists, when a small 
billet was put into his hand. 

“From whence? ” said Prince John, looking at the per- 
son by whom it was delivered. 

“ From foreign parts, my lord, but from whence I know 
not,” replied his attendant. “A Frenchman brought it 

1 An old spelling of camphor. 

2 Thomas a Becket, Archbishop of Canterbury, assassinated in his 
cathedral in 1170, and soon canonized as St. Thomas. See Tennyson’s 
Becket. 


150 


IVANHOE 


\ 

hither, who said he had ridden night and day to put it 
into the hands of your highness.” 

The Prince looked narrowly at the superscription, and 
then at the seal, placed so as to secure the flox-silk 1 with 
which the billet was surrounded, and which bore the im- 
pression of three fleurs-de-lis . 2 John then opened the 
billet with apparent agitation, which visibly and greatly 
increased when he had perused the contents, which were 
expressed in these words — 

i( Take heed to yourself , for the Devil is unchained .” 3 

The Prince turned as pale as death, looked first on the 
earth, and then up to heaven, like a man who has received 
news that sentence of execution has been passed upon him! 
Recovering from the first effects of his surprise, he took 
Waldemar Fitzurse and De Bracy aside, and put the billet 
into their hands successively. “ It means,” he added, in a 
faltering voice, “ that my brother Richard has obtained his 
freedom.” 

“ This may he a false alarm, or a forged letter,” said 
De Bracy. 

“ It is France’s own hand and seal,” replied Prince 
J ohn. 

“ It is time, then,” said Fitzurse, “ to draw our party to 
a head, either at York, or some other centrical 4 place. A 
few days later, and it will be indeed too late. Your high- 
ness must break short this present mummery.” 5 

“ The yeomen and commons,” said De Bracy, " must not 
be dismissed discontented, for lack of their share in the 
sports.” 

“ The day,” said Waldemar, “ is not yet very far spent — 
let the archers shoot a few rounds at the target, and the 
prize be adjudged. This will be an abundant fulfilment of 
the Prince’s promises, so far as this herd of Saxon serfs is 
concerned.” 

“I thank thee, Waldemar,” said the Prince; "thou 

1 Floss-silk. 

2 A heraldic bearing, in shape resembling the lily, which has long 
been the emblem of the royal family of France. 

3 This is the actual message sent by Philip II of France to John 
in July, 1193, when he heard that Richard had succeeded in securing 
ransom from his Austrian prison. See note at the beginning of 
Chapter vii. 

4 Central. 


6 Buffoonery. 


IV AN HOB 


151 


remindest me, too, that I have a debt to pay to that in- 
solent peasant who yesterday insulted our person. Our 
banquet also shall go forward to-night as we proposed. 
Were this my last hour of power, it should he an hour 
sacred to revenge and to pleasure — let new cares come with 
to-morrow’s new day.” 

The sound of the trumpets soon recalled those spectators 
who had already begun to leave the field; and proclamation 
was made that Prince John, suddenly called by high and 
peremptory public duties, held himself obliged to discon- 
tinue the entertainments of to-morrow’s festival: never- 
theless, that, unwilling so many good yeomen should de- 
part without a trial of skill, he was pleased to appoint them, 
before leaving the ground, presently to execute the com- 
petition of archery intended for the morrow. To the 
best archer a prize was to be awarded, being a bugle-horn, 
mounted with silver, and a silken baldric richly orna- 
mented with a medallion of St. Hubert , 1 the patron of 
silvan sport. 

More than thirty yeomen at first presented themselves 
as competitors, several of whom were rangers and under- 
keepers in the royal forests of Needwood and Charnwood. 
When, however, the archers understood with whom they 
were to he matched, upwards of twenty withdrew them- 
selves from the contest, unwilling to encounter the dis- 
honour of almost certain defeat. For in those days the 
skill of each celebrated marksman was as well known for 
many miles round him as the qualities of a horse trained 
at Newmarket 2 are familiar to those who frequent that 
well-known meeting. 

The diminished list of competitors for silvan fame still 
amounted to eight. Prince John stepped from his royal 
seat to view more nearly the persons of these chosen yeo- 
men, several of whom wore the royal livery. Having satis- 
fied his curiosity by this investigation, he looked for the 
object of his resentment, whom he observed standing on 
the same spot, and with the same composed countenance 
which he had exhibited upon the preceding day. 

“ Fellow,” said Prince J ohn, “ I guessed by thy insolent 

1 A famous sportsman — later a bishop — of northern France (656-727). 

2 A town thirteen miles from Cambridge, famous since the times of 
James I for its horse-races. 


152 


IV AN 110 E 


babble thou wert no true lover of the long-bow/ and I see 
thou darest not adventure thy skill among such merry- 
men as stand yonder.” 

“ Under favour, sir,” replied the yeoman, I have an- 
other reason for refraining to shoot, besides the fearing 
discomfiture and disgrace.” 

“ And what is thy other reason ? ” said Prince J ohn, who, 
for some cause which perhaps he could not himself have 
explained, felt a painful curiosity respecting this indi- 
vidual. 

“ Because,” replied the woodsman, “ I know not if these 
yeomen and I are used to shoot at the same marks; and 
because, moreover, I know not how your Grace might relish 
the winning of a third prize by one who has unwittingly 
fallen under your displeasure.” 

Prince John coloured as he put the question, “ What is 
thy name, yeoman ? ” 

“ Locksley,” 1 2 answered the yeoman. 

“ Then, Locksley,” said Prince John, “ thou shalt shoot 
in thy turn, when these yeomen have displayed their skill. 
If thou earnest the prize, I will add to it twenty nobles 3 ; 
but if thou losest it, thou shalt be stript of thy Lincoln 
green, and scourged out of the lists with bowstrings, for a 
wordy and insolent braggart.” 

“ And how if I refuse to shoot on such a wager?” said 
the yeoman. — “ Your Grace’s power, supported, as it is, by 
so many men-at-arms, may indeed easily strip and scourge 
me, but cannot compel me to bend or to draw my bow.” 

“ If thou refusest my fair proffer,” said the Prince, “ the 
Provost of the lists shall cut thy bowstring, break thy 
bow and arrows, and expel thee from the presence as a 
faint-hearted craven.” 

“ This is no fair chance you put on me, proud Prince,” 
said the yeoman, “ to compel me to peril myself against 
the best archers of Leicester and Staffordshire, under the 
penalty of infamy if they should overshoot me. Never- 
theless, I will obey your pleasure.” 

1 The long-bow was about six feet in length. 

2 The town of Locksley, in Nottingham, is one of the numerous 
places claimed by legend as the birthplace of Robin Hood. 

3 A gold coin worth between one and two dollars. 


1VANH0E 


153 


“ Look to him close, men-at-arms,” said Prince John, 
“his heart is sinking; I am jealous lest he attempt to escape 
the trial. — And do you, good fellows, shoot boldly round; 
a buck and a butt of wine are ready for your refreshment 
in yonder tent, when the prize is won/’ 

A target was placed at the upper end of the southern 
avenue which led to the lists. The contending archers 
took their station in turn, at the bottom of the southern 
access, the distance between that station and the mark 
allowing full distance for what was called a shot at rovers . 1 
The archers, having previously determined by lot their 
order of precedence, were to shoot each three shafts in 
succession. The sports were regulated by an officer of 
inferior rank, termed the Provost of the Games; for the 
high rank of the marshals of the lists would have been 
held degraded, had they condescended to superintend the 
sports of the yeomanry. 

One by one the archers, stepping forward, delivered 
their shafts yeomanlike and bravely. Of twenty-four 
arrows, shot in succession, ten were fixed in the target, 
and the others ranged so near it that, considering the 
distance of the mark, it was accounted good archery. Of 
the ten shafts which hit the target, two within the inner 
ring were shot by Hubert, a forester in the service of 
Malvoisin, who was accordingly pronounced victorious. 

“ How, Locksley,” said Prince John to the bold yeoman, 
with a bitter smile, “ wilt thou try conclusions with 
Hubert, or wilt thou yield up bow, baldric, and quiver, to 
the Provost of the sports? ” 

“ Sith 2 it be no better/’ said Locksley, “ I am content 
to try my fortune; on condition that when I have shot 
two shafts at yonder mark of Hubert’s, he shall be bound 
to shoot one at that which I shall propose.” 

“ That is but fair,” answered Prince John, “ and it shall 
not be refused thee. — If thou dost beat this braggart, 
Hubert, I will fill the bugle with silver-pennies for thee.” 

“ A man can do but his best,” answered Hubert; “ but 
my grandsire drew a good long-bow at Hastings, and I 
trust not to dishonour his memory.” 

1 Shooting with a decided elevation, — not point-blank. Sometimes 
it means shooting at random. 

2 Since. 


154 


IV AN 110 E 


The former target was now removed, and a fresh one of 
the same size placed in its room. Hubert, who, as victor 
in the first trial of skill, had the right to shoot first, took 
his aim with great deliberation, long measuring the dis- 
tance with his eye, while he held in his hand his bended 
bow, with the arrow placed on the string. At length he 
made a step forward, and raising the bow at the full stretch 
of his left arm, till the centre or grasping-place was nigh 
level with his face, he drew his bowstring to his ear. The 
arrow whistled through the air, and lighted within the 
inner ring of the target, hut not exactly in the centre. 

“ You have not allowed for the wind, Hubert,'’ said his 
antagonist, bending his how, “ or that had been a better 
shot.” 

So saying, and without showing the least anxiety to 
pause upon his aim, Locksley stept to the appointed station, 
and shot his arrow as carelessly in appearance as if he had 
not even looked at the mark. He was speaking almost at 
the instant that the shaft left the bowstring, yet it alighted 
in the target two inches nearer to the white spot which 
marked the centre than that of Hubert. 

“ By the light of heaven! ” said Prince John to Hubert, 
<tf an thou suffer that runagate 1 knave to overcome thee, 
thou art worthy of the gallows! ” 

Hubert had hut one set speech for all occasions. “ An 
your highness were to hang me,” he said, “ a man can hut 
do his best. Nevertheless, my grandsire drew a good 
how- ” 

“ The foul fiend on thy grandsire and all his genera- 
tion! ” interrupted John; “ shoot, knave, and shoot thy 
best, or it shall be the worse for thee ! ” 

Thus exhorted, Hubert resumed his place, and not 
neglecting the caution which he had received from his 
adversary, he made the necessary allowance for a very light 
air of wind, which had just arisen, and shot so successfully 
that his arrow alighted in the very centre of the target. 

“A Hubert! a Hubert!” shouted the populace, more 
interested in a known person than in a stranger. “ In the 
clout 2 ! — in the clout! — a Hubert for ever! ” 

1 Corruption of renegade; here used in the sense of vagabond. 

2 A mark in the centre of the target; perhaps originally a piece of 
white cloth. 


IVANHOK 


155 


u Thou canst not mend that shot, Locksley,” said the 
Prince, with an insulting smile. 

u I will notch his shaft for him, however,” replied 
Locksley. 

And letting fly his arrow with a little more precaution 
than before, it lighted right upon that of his competitor, 
which it split to shivers. The people who stood around 
were so astonished at his wonderful dexterity that they 
could not even give vent to their surprise in their usual 
clamour. “ This must be the devil, and no man of flesh 
and blood,” whispered the yeomen to each other; “ such 
archery was never seen since a bow was first bent in 
Britain.” 

“ And now,” said Locksley, “ I will crave your Grace’s 
permission to plant such a mark as is used in the North 
Country; and welcome every brave yeoman who shall try 
a shot at it to win a smile from the bonny lass he loves 
best.” 

He then turned to leave the lists. “ Let your guards 
attend me,” he said, “ if you please — I go but to cut a rod 
from the next willow-bush.” 

Prince John made a signal that some attendants should 
follow him in case of his escape; but the cry of “ Shame! 
shame! ” which burst from the multitude, induced him to 
alter his ungenerous purpose. 

Locksley returned almost instantly with a willow wand 
about six feet in length, perfectly straight, and rather 
thicker than a man’s thumb. He began to peel this with 
great composure, observing, at the same time, that to ask 
a good woodsman to shoot at a target so broad as had 
hitherto been used was to put shame upon his skill. “ For 
his own part,” he said, “ and in the land where he was 
bred, men would as soon take for their mark King 
Arthur’s 1 round-table, which held sixty knights around it. 
A child of seven years old,” he said, “might hit yonder 
target with a headless shaft; but,” added he, walking 
deliberately to the other end of the lists, and sticking the 

1 A British king of the sixth century, around whose name have 
gathered the Arthurian romances, many of which Tennyson has used 
in his Idylls of the King. The round table, made by the wizard 
Merlin, had a seat for each of the knights, whose number varies, in 
different accounts, from sixty to one hundred and fifty. 


156 


1VANH0E 


willow wand upright in the ground, “ he that hits that rod 
at five-score yards, I call him an archer fit to bear both 
bow and quiver before a king, an it were the stout King 
Richard himself.” 

“ My grandsire , 77 said Hubert, “ drew a good bow at the 
battle of Hastings, and never shot at such a mark in his 
life — and neither will I. If this yeoman can cleave that 
rod, I give him the bucklers — or rather, I yield to the 
devil that is in his jerkin , 1 and not to any human skill; a 
man can but do his best, and I will not shoot where I am 
sure to miss. I might as well shoot at the edge of our par- 
son 7 s whittle , 2 or at a wheat straw, or at a sunbeam, as at a 
twinkling white streak which I can hardly seed 7 

“ Cowardly dog ! 77 said Prince John . — ■“ Sirrah Locksley, 
do thou shoot; but, if thou liittest such a mark, I will say 
thou art the first man ever did so. Howe’er it be, thou 
shalt not crow over us with a mere show of superior skill . 77 

“ I will do my best, as Hubert says , 77 answered Locksley; 
“ no man can do more . 77 

So saying, he again bent his bow, but on the present 
occasion looked with attention to his weapon, and changed 
the string, which he thought was no longer truly round, 
having been a little frayed by the two former shots. He 
then took his aim with some deliberation, and the multi- 
tude awaited the event in breathless silence. The archer 
vindicated their opinion of his skill: his arrow split the 
willow rod against which it was aimed. A jubilee of 
acclamations followed; and even Prince John, in admira- 
tion of Locksley 7 s skill, lost for an instant his dislike to his 
person. “ These twenty nobles , 77 he said, “ which, with 
the bugle, thou hast fairly won, are thine own; we will 
make them fifty, if thou wilt take livery and service with 
us as a yeoman of our body guard, and be near to our 
person. For never did so strong a hand bend a bow, or so 
true an eye direct a shaft , 77 

“ Pardon me, noble Prince , 77 said Locksley; “ but I have 
vowed that, if ever I take service, it should be with your 
royal brother King Richard. These twenty nobles I leave 
to Hubert, who has this day drawn as brave a bow as his 
grandsire did at Hastings. Had his modesty not refused 
the trial, he would have hit the wand as well as I . 77 

1 Jacket. 2 Knife. 


1VANII0E 


157 


Hubert shook his head as he received with reluctance 
the bounty of the stranger, and Locksley, anxious to escape 
further observation, mixed with the crowd, and was seen 
no more. 

The victorious archer would not perhaps have escaped 
John’s attention so easily, had not that Prince had other 
subjects of anxious and more important meditation press- 
ing upon his mind at that instant. He called upon his 
chamberlain as he gave the signal for retiring from the 
lists, and commanded him instantly to gallop to Ashby, 
and seek out Isaac the Jew. “ Tell the dog,” he said, 
“ to send me, before sun-down, two thousand crowns. He 
knows the security; but thou mayst show him this ring 
for a token. The rest of the money must be paid at York 
within six days. If he neglects, I will have the unbeliev- 
ing villain’s head. Look that thou pass him not on the 
way; for the circumcised slave was displaying his stolen 
finery amongst us.” 

So saying, the Prince resumed his horse, and returned 
to Ashbv, the whole crowd breaking up and dispersing 
upon his retreat. 

[This is another very famous chapter. The effect of climax, in 
Locksley’s successive shots, is in its way as finely artistic as Scott’s 
management of the tournament in Chapter xii. Study it closely. 
Similar feats of archery are described in Roger Ascham’s Toxophilus 
(1545) and Maurice Thompson’s Witchery of Archery. A mark like 
Locksley’s, and an equal skill, is credited to various personages 
(Robin Hood, Clvm of the Cleugh, William of Cloudesley) in old Eng- 
lish ballads. For a discussion of these Robin Hood ballads, see 
Professor F. J. Childs’s English and Scottish Ballads , Yol. v. Do 
you remember any other characters depicted by Scott who have, like 
Hubert, “ one set speech for all occasions”? (See Woodstock, Waver- 
ley, etc.)] 


CHAPTER XIV 


In rough magnificence array’d, 

When ancient Chivalry display’d 
The pomp of her heroic games, 

And crested chiefs and tissued dames 
Assembled, at the clarion’s call, 

In some proud castle’s high arch’d hall. 

Warton. 


Prince John held his high festival in the Castle of 
Ashby. This was not the same building of which the 
stately ruins still interest the traveller, and which was 
erected at a later period by the Lord Hastings , 1 High 
Chamberlain of England, one of the first victims of the 
tyranny of Richard the Third , 1 and yet better known as one 
of Shakespeare’s characters than by his historical fame. 
The castle and town of Ashby, at this time, belonged to 
Roger de Quincy, Earl of Winchester , 2 who, during the 
period of our history, was absent in the Holy Land. Prince 
John, in the meanwhile, occupied his castle, and disposed 
of his domains without scruple; and seeking at present to 
dazzle men’s eyes by his hospitality and magnificence, had 
given orders for great preparations, in ord£r to render the 
banquet as splendid as possible. 

The purveyors of the Prince, who exercised on this and 
other occasions the full authority of royalty, had swept the 
country of all that could be collected which was esteemed 
fit for their master’s table. Guests also were invited in 
great numbers; and in the necessity in which he then found 

1 William, Lord Hastings (1430?-1483), was a distinguished soldier 
and statesman who was beheaded by Richard III in the first year of 
the latter’s brief reign (1483-85). See Richard III. The castle 
referred to in the text is still standing, in part. Mary Queen of 
Scots was once a prisoner there. 

2 First Earl of Winchester (d. 1219). It was probably, however, 
his eldest son, Robert, who was the crusader. 


IVANIIOE 


159 


himself of courting popularity, Prince John had extended 
his invitation to a few distinguished Saxon and Danish 1 
families, as w r ell as to the Norman nobility and gentry 
of the neighbourhood. However despised and degraded 
on ordinary occasions, the great numbers of the Anglo- 
Saxons must necessarily render them formidable in the 
civil commotions which seemed approaching, and it was an 
obvious point of policy to secure popularity with their 
leaders. 

It was accordingly the Prince’s intention, which he for 
some time maintained, to treat these unwonted guests with 
a courtesy to which they had been little accustomed. But 
although no man with less scruple made his ordinary habits 
and feelings bend to his interest, it was the misfortune of 
this Prince that his levity and petulance were perpetually 
breaking out, and undoing all that had been gained by his 
previous dissimulation. 

Of this fickle temper he gave a memorable example in 
Ireland , 2 when sent thither by his father, Henry the 
Second, with the purpose of buying golden opinions of the 
inhabitants of that new and important acquisition to the 
English crown. Upon this occasion the Irish chieftains 
contended which should first offer to the young Prince 
their loyal homage and the kiss of peace. But, instead 
of receiving their salutations with courtesy, John and his 
petulant attendants could not resist the temptation of 
pulling the long beards of the Irish chieftains; a conduct 
which, as might have been expected, was highly resented 
by these insulted dignitaries, and produced fatal conse- 
quences to the English domination in Ireland. It is 
necessary to keep these inconsistencies of John’s character 
in view, that the reader may understand his conduct during 
the present evening. 

In execution of the resolution which he had formed 
during his cooler moments, Prince John received Cedric 
and Athelstane with distinguished courtesy, and expressed 
his disappointment, without resentment, when the indis- 
position of Rowena was alleged by the former as a reason 

1 The northeastern part of England shows many traces of Danish 
occupancy; as, for instance, town names ending in -by, like Ashby, 
Whitby. 

8 See Green’s Short History , Chap, iii, Section ii f 
7.P 


160 


I VAN HOE 


for her not attending upon his gracious summons. Cedric 
and Athelstane were both dressed in the ancient Saxon 
garb, which, although not unhandsome in itself, and in 
the present instance composed of costly materials, was so 
remote in shape and appearance from that of the other 
guests, that Prince John took great credit to himself with 
Waldemar Fitzurse for refraining from laughter at a sight 
which the fashion of the day rendered ridiculous. Yet, in 
the eye of sober judgment, the short close tunic and long 
mantle of the Saxons was a more graceful, as well as a more 
convenient dress, than the garb of the Normans, whose 
under garment was a long doublet, so loose as to resemble 
a shirt or waggoner’s frock, covered by a cloak of scanty 
dimensions, neither fit to defend the wearer from cold 
or from rain, and the only purpose of which appeared to 
be to display as much fur, embroidery, and jewellery work, 
as the ingenuity of the tailor could contrive to lay upon 
it. The Emperor Charlemagne, 1 in whose reign they were 
first introduced, seems to have been very sensible of the 
inconveniences arising from the fashion of this garment, 
“ In Heaven’s name,” said he, “ to what purpose serve 
these abridged cloaks? If we are in bed they are no cover, 
on horseback they are no protection from the wind and 
rain, and when seated, they do not guard our legs from the 
damp or the frost.” 

Nevertheless, spite of this imperial objurgation, the 
short cloaks continued in fashion down to the time of 
which we treat, and particularly among the princes of the 
House of Anjou. They were therefore in universal use 
among Prince John’s courtiers; and the long mantle, which 
formed the upper garment of the Saxons, was held in pro- 
portional derision. 

The guests were seated at a table which groaned under 
the quantity of good cheer. The numerous cooks who 
attended on the Prince’s progress, having exerted all their 
art in varying the forms in which the ordinary provisions 
were served up, had succeeded almost as well as the modern 
professors of the culinary art in rendering them perfectly 
unlike their natural appearance. Besides these dishes of 
domestic origin, there were various delicacies brought from 

J The great king of the Franks, crowned Emperor of the Romans 
in 800. He died at Aix in 814. 


IV AN IIO E 


161 


foreign parts, and a quantity of rich pastry, as well as of 
the simnel-bread 1 and wastel 2 cakes, which were only 
used at the tables of the highest nobility. The banquet 
was crowned with the richest wines, both foreign and 
domestic. 

But, though luxurious, the Norman nobles were not 
generally speaking an intemperate race. While indulging 
themselves in the pleasures of the table, they aimed at 
delicacy, hut avoided excess, and were apt to attribute 
gluttony and drunkenness to the vanquished Saxons, as 
vices peculiar to their inferior station. Prince John, in- 
deed, and those who courted his pleasure by imitating his 
foibles, were apt to indulge to excess in the pleasures of 
the trencher and the goblet; and indeed it is well known 
that his death was occasioned by a surfeit upon peaches 
and new ale . 3 His conduct, however, was an exception 
to the general manners of his countrymen. 

With sly gravity, interrupted only by private signs to 
each other, the Norman knights and nobles beheld the 
ruder demeanour of Athelstane and Cedric at a banquet, 
to the form and fashion of which they were unaccustomed. 
And while their manners were thus the subject of sarcastic 
observation, the untaught Saxons' unwittingly transgressed 
several of the arbitrary rules established for the regulation 
of society. Now, it is well known that a man may with 
more impunity be guilty of an actual breach either of real 
good breeding or of good morals than appear ignorant 
of the most minute point of fashionable etiquette. Thus 
Cedric, who dried his hands with a towel, instead of suffer- 
ing the moisture to exhale by waving them gracefully in 
the air, incurred more ridicule than his companion Athel- 
stane, when he swallowed to his own single share the whole 
of a large pasty composed of the most exquisite foreign 
delicacies, and termed at that time a Karum-pie. When, 
however, it was discovered, by a serious cross-examination, 
that the Thane of Coningsburgh (or Franklin, as the Nor- 
mans termed him) had no idea what he had been devour- 
ing, and that he had taken the contents of the Karum-pie 
for larks and pigeons, whereas they were in fact beccafi- 

1 Made of finest flour. 

2 Also made of fine white flour. See Chaucer’s Prologue , 1. 147. 

3 At the Cistercian Abbey at Swineshead. 

11 


162 


1VANH0E 


coes 1 and nightingales, his ignorance brought him in for 
an ample share of the ridicule which would have been more 
justly bestowed on his gluttony. 

The long feast had at length its end; and, while the 
goblet circulated freely, men talked of the feats of the 
preceding tournament, — of the unknown victor in the 
archery games, of the Black Knight, whose self-denial 
had induced him to withdraw from the honours he had 
won, — and of the gallant Ivanhoe, who had so dearly 
bought the honours of the day. The topics were treated 
with military frankness, and the jest and laugh went round 
the hall. The brow of Prince John alone was overclouded 
during these discussions; some overpowering care seemed 
agitating his mind, and it was only when he received 
occasional hints from his attendants, that he seemed to 
take interest in what was passing around him. On such 
occasions he would start up, quaff a cup of wine as if to 
raise his spirits, and then mingle in the conversation by 
some observation made abruptly or at random. 

“We drink this beaker,” said he, “ to the health of 
Wilfred of Ivanhoe, champion of this Passage of Arms, 
and grieve that his wound renders him absent from our 
board. Let all fill to the pledge, and especially Cedric of 
Botherwood, the worthy father of a son so promising.” 

“ No, my lord,” replied Cedric, standing up, and placing 
on the table his untasted cup, “ I yield not the name of 
son to the disobedient youth, who at once despises my 
commands and relinquishes the manners and customs of 
his fathers.” 

“ *Tis impossible,” cried Prince John, with well-feigned 
astonishment, “ that so gallant a knight should be an un- 
worthy or disobedient son! ” 

“ Yet, my lord,” answered Cedric, “ so it is with this 
Wilfred. He left my homely dwelling to mingle with the 
gay nobility of your brother’s court, where he learned to 
do those tricks of horsemanship which you prize so highly. 
He left it contrary to my wish and command; and in tlie 
days of Alfred that would have been termed disobedience — 
ay, and a crime severely punishable.” 

“Alas!” replied Prince John, with a deep sigh of 

1 A small bird, probably a warbler, formerly much prized as a table 
delicacy. 


I VAN HOE 


163 


affected sympathy, “ since your son was a follower of my 
unhappy brother, it need not be enquired where or from 
whom he learned the lesson of filial disobedience.” 

Thus spake Prince John, wilfully forgetting that, of all 
the sons of Plenry the Second, though no one was free from 
the charge, he himself had been most distinguished for 
rebellion 1 and ingratitude to his father. 

“ I think,” said he, after a moment’s pause, “ that my 
brother proposed to confer upon his favourite the rich 
manor of Ivanhoe.” 

“He did endow him with it,” answered Cedric; “nor 
is it my least quarrel with my son, that he stooped to hold, 
as a feudal vassal, the very domains which his fathers 
possessed in free and independent right.” 

“We shall then have your willing sanction, good Cedric,” 
said Prince John, “ to confer this fief upon a person whose 
dignity will not be diminished by holding land of the 
British crown. 2 — Sir Reginald Front-de-Boeuf,” he said, 
turning towards that Baron, “ I trust you will so keep the 
goodly Barony of Ivanhoe that Sir Wilfred shall not incur 
his father’s farther displeasure by again entering upon that 
fief.” 

“ By St. Anthony 3 ! ” answered the black-brow’d giant, 
“ I will consent that your highness shall hold me a Saxon, 
if either Cedric or Wilfred, or the best that ever bore 
English blood, shall wrench from me the gift with which 
your highness has graced me.” 

“ Whoever shall call thee Saxon, Sir Baron,” replied 
Cedric, offended at a mode of expression by which the 
Normans frequently expressed their habitual contempt of 
the English, “ will do thee an honour as great as it is 
undeserved.” 

Front-de-Bceuf would have replied, but Prince John’s 
petulance and levity got the start. 

“Assuredly,” said he, “ my lords, the noble Cedric speaks 
truth; and his race may claim precedence over us as much 
in the length of their pedigrees as in the longitude of their 
cloaks.” 

1 See Green’s Short History , Chap, ii. Sect. viii. 

2 The phrase “British crown” could never have been used at this 
period. 

3 The Egyptian abbot (251-356 a.d.), founder of asceticism. 


164 


IVANHOE 


“ They go before us indeed in the field — as deer before 
dogs/’ said Malvoisin. 

“ And with good right may they go before us: forget 
not/’ said the Prior Aymer, “ the superior decency and 
decorum of their manners.” 

“ Their singular abstemiousness and temperance/’ said 
De Bracy, forgetting the plan which promised him a Saxon 
bride. 

“ Together with the courage and conduct/’ said Brian 
de Bois-Guilbert, “ by which they distinguished themselves 
at Hastings and elsewhere.” 

While, with smooth and smiling cheek, the courtiers, 
each in turn, followed their Prince’s example, and aimed 
a shaft of ridicule at Cedric, the face of the Saxon became 
inflamed with passion, and he glanced his eyes fiercely 
from one to another, as if the quick succession of so many 
injuries had prevented his replying to them in turn; or 
like a baited bull who, surrounded by his tormentors, is at 
a loss to choose from among them the immediate object 
of his revenge. At length he spoke, in a voice half 
choked with passion; and, addressing himself to Prince 
John as the head and front of the offence which he had 
received, “ Whatever,” he said, “ have been the follies and 
vices of our race, a Saxon would have been held nidering ,” * 
(the most emphatic term for abject worthlessness,) “ who 
should in his own hall, and while his own wine-cup passed, 
have treated, or suffered to be treated, an unoffending 
guest as your highness has this day beheld me used; and 
whatever was the misfortune of our fathers on the field of 
Hastings, those may at least be silent,” here he looked at 
Front-de-Boeuf and the Templar, “ who have within these 
few hours once and again lost saddle and stirrup before 
the lance of a Saxon.” 

“ By my faith, a biting jest! ” said Prince John. “ How 
like you it, sirs? — Our Saxon subjects rise in spirit and 
courage; become shrewd in wit, and bold in bearing, in 
these unsettled times. What say ye, my lords? — By this 

* There was nothing accounted so ignominious among the Saxons 
as to merit this disgraceful epithet. Even William the Conqueror, 
hated as he was by them, continued to draw a considerable army of 
Anglo-Saxons to his standard, by threatening to stigmatize those 
who staid at home as nidering. Bartholinus, I think, mentions a 
similar phrase which had like influence on the Panes. — L. T. [Scott.] 


IVANIIOE 


165 


good light, I hold it best to take our galleys, and return 
to Normandy in time/’ 

“For fear of the Saxons?” said De Bracy, laughing; 
“ we should need no weapon but our hunting spears to 
bring these boars to bay.” 

“ A truce with your raillery, Sir Knights,” said Fitzurse; 
— “ and it were well,” he added, addressing the Prince, 
“ that your highness should assure the worthy Cedric there 
is no insult intended him by jests which must sound but 
harshly in the ear of a stranger.” 

“ Insult? ” answered Prince John, resuming his courtesy 
of demeanour; “ I trust it will not be thought that I could 
mean, or permit any, to be offered in my presence. Here! 
I fill my cup to Cedric himself, since he refuses to pledge 
his son’s health.” 

The cup went round amid the well-dissembled applause 
of the courtiers, which, however, failed to make the im- 
pression on the mind of the Saxon that had been designed. 
He was not naturally acute of perception, but those too 
much undervalued his understanding who deemed that 
this flattering compliment would obliterate the sense of the 
prior insult. He was silent, however, when the royal pledge 
again passed round, “ To Sir ikthelstane of Coningsburgh.” 

The knight made his obeisance, and showed his sense 
of the honour by draining a huge goblet in answer to it. 

“ And now, sirs,” said Prince John, who began to be 
warmed with the wine which he had drank, “ having done 
justice to our Saxon guests, we will pray of them some 
requital to our courtesy. — Worthy Thane,” he continued, 
addressing Cedric, “ may we pray you to name to us some 
Norman whose mention may least sully your mouth, and 
to wash down with a goblet of wine all bitterness which the 
sound may leave behind it? ” 

Fitzurse arose while Prince John spoke, and gliding 
behind the seat of the Saxon, whispered to him not to omit 
the opportunity of putting an end to unkindness betwixt 
the two races, by naming Prince John. The Saxon replied 
not to this politic insinuation, but, rising up, and filling 
his cup to the brim, he addressed Prince John in these 
words: “ Your highness has required that I should name 
a Norman deserving to be remembered at our banquet. 
This, perchance, is a hard task, since it calls on the slave 


166 


IVANHOE 


to sing the praises of the master — upon the vanquished, 
while pressed by all the evils of conquest, to sing the praises 
of the conqueror. Yet I will name a Norman — the first in 
arms and in place — the best and the noblest of his race. 
And the lips that shall refuse to pledge me to his well- 
earned fame, I term false and dishonoured, and will so 
maintain them with my life.- — I quaff this goblet to the 
health of Bichard the Lion-hearted! ” 

Prince John, who had expected that his own name 
would have closed the Saxon’s speech, started when that 
of his injured brother was so unexpectedly introduced. 
He raised mechanically the wine-cup to his lips, then in- 
stantly set it down, to view the demeanour of the company 
at this unexpected proposal, which many of them felt it as 
unsafe to oppose as to comply with. Some of them, ancient 
and experienced courtiers, closely imitated the example of 
the Prince himself, raising the goblet to their lips, and 
again replacing it before them. There were many who, 
with a more generous feeling, exclaimed, “ Long live King 
Bichard! and may he be speedily restored to us! ” And 
some few, among wdiom were Front-de-Bceuf and the Tem- 
plar, in sullen disdain suffered their goblets to stand un- 
tasted before them. But no man ventured directly to gain- 
say a pledge filled to the health of the reigning monarch. 

Having enjoyed his triumph for about a minute, Cedric 
said to his companion, “ Up, noble Athelstane! we have 
remained here long enough, since we have requited the 
hospitable courtesy of Prince John’s banquet. Those who 
wish to know further of our rude Saxon manners must 
henceforth seek us in the homes of our fathers, since we 
have seen enough of royal banquets, and enough of Nor- 
man courtesy.” 

So saying, he arose and left the banqueting room, fol- 
lowed by Athelstane, and by several other guests, who, 
partaking of the Saxon lineage, held themselves insulted 
hy the sarcasms of Prince John and his courtiers. 

“ By the hones of St. Thomas,” said Prince John, as 
they retreated, “ the Saxon churls have borne off the best 
of the day, and have retreated with triumph! ” 

“ Conclamatum est, poculatum est ,” said Prior Aymer; 
“ we have drunk and we have shouted, — it were time we 
left our wine flagons.” 


IVANHOE 167 

“ The monk hath some fair penitent to shrive to-night, 
that he is in such a hurry to depart,” said De Bracy. 

“ Not so, Sir Knight,” replied the Abbot; “ but I must 
move several miles forward this evening upon my home- 
ward journey.” 

“ They are breaking up,” said the Prince in a whisper 
to Fitzurse; “ their fears anticipate the event, and this 
coward Prior is the first to shrink from me.” 

“ Fear not, my lord,” said Waldemar; “ I will show him 
such reasons as shall induce him to join us when we hold 
our meeting at York. — Sir Prior,” he said, “ I must speak 
with you in private, before you mount your palfrey.” 

The other guests were now fast dispersing, with the 
exception of those immediately attached to Prince John’s 
faction, and his retinue. 

“ This, then, is the result of your advice,” said the 
Prince, turning an angry countenance upon Fitzurse; “that 
I should he bearded at my own board by a drunken Saxon 
churl, and that, on the mere sound of my brother’s name, 
men should fall off from me as if I had the leprosy? ” 

“ Have patience, sir,” replied his counsellor; “ I might 
retort your accusation, and blame the inconsiderate levity 
which foiled my design, and misled your own better judg- 
ment. But this is no time for recrimination. De Bracy 
and I will instantly go among these shuffling cowards, and 
convince them they have gone too far to recede.” 

“ It will be in vain,” said Prince J ohn, pacing the apart- 
ment with disordered steps, and expressing himself with an 
agitation to which the wine he had drank partly con- 
tributed; “it will be in vain — they have seen the hand- 
writing on the wall — they have marked the paw of the 
lion in the sand — they have heard his approaching roar 
shake the wood — nothing will reanimate their courage.” 

“ Would to God,” said Fitzurse to De Bracy, “ that aught 
could reanimate his own! His brother’s very name is an 
ague to him. Unhappy are the counsellors of a Prince 
who wants fortitude and perseverance alike in good and in 
evil! ” 

[Note how this chapter furnishes concrete illustration of those dif- 
ferences between Saxon and Norman which it was Scott’s purpose to 
emphasize wherever possible. Why does Cedric’s toast to Richard 
increase the reader’s sympathy for both of these characters ?] 


CHAPTER XV 


And yet he thinks, — ha, ha, ha, ha, — he thinks 
I am the tool and servant of his will. 

Well, let it be ; through all the maze of trouble 
His plots and base oppression must create, 

I’ll shape myself a way to higher things, 

And who will say ’tis wrong V 

Basil, a Tragedy. 

No spider ever took more pains to repair the shattered 
meshes of His web than did Waldemar Fitzurse to reunite 
and combine the scattered members of Prince John’s cabal . 1 
Few of these were attached to him from inclination, and 
none from personal regard. It was therefore necessary 
that Fitzurse should open to them new prospects of advan- 
tage, and remind them of those which they at present 
enjoyed. To the young and wild nobles, he held out the 
prospect of unpunished license and uncontrolled revelry; to 
the ambitious, that of power, and to the covetous, that of 
increased wealth and extended domains. The leaders of 
the mercenaries received a donation in gold; an argument 
the most persuasive to their minds, and without which all 
others would have proved in vain. Promises were still 
more liberally distributed than money by this active agent; 
and, in fine, nothing was left undone that could determine 
the wavering or animate the disheartened. The return of 
Xing Richard he spoke of as an event altogether beyond 
the reach of probability; yet, when lie observed, from the 
doubtful looks and uncertain answers which he received, 
that this was the apprehension by which the minds of his 
accomplices were most haumed, he boldly treated that 
event, should it really take place, as one which ought not 
to alter their political calculations. 

1 Faction. The name was first given to an unpopular ministry of 
Charles II, consisting of Clifford, Ashley, Buckingham, Arlington, 
and Lauderdale, the initials of whose names happened to compose 
the word. 


IVAN1I0E 


169 


“ If Richard returns," said Fitzurse, “ he returns to 
enrich his needy and impoverished crusaders at the expense 
of those who did not follow him to the Holy Land. He 
returns to call to a fearful reckoning, those who, during 
his absence, have done aught that can be construed offence 
or encroachment upon either the laws of the land or the 
privileges of the crown. He returns to avenge upon the 
Orders of the Temple and the Hospital the preference 
which they showed to Philip of France during the wars in 
the Holy Land. He returns, in fine, to punish as a rebel 
every adherent of his brother Prince John. Are ye afraid 
of his power? ” continued the artful confidant of that 
Prince; “ we acknowledge him a strong and valiant knight; 
hut these are not the days of King Arthur, when a cham- 
pion could encounter an army. If Richard indeed comes 
hack, it must he alone, — unfollowed — unfriended. The 
hones of his gallant army have whitened the sands of 
Palestine. The few of his followers who have returned 
have straggled hither like this Wilfred of Ivanhoe, beg- 
gared and broken men. — And what talk ye of Richard’s 
right of birth ? ” he proceeded, in answer to those who 
objected scruples on that head. “ Is Richard’s title of 
primogeniture more decidedly certain than that of Duke 
Robert of Normandy , 1 the Conqueror’s eldest son? And 
yet William the Red 1 and Henry , 1 his second and third 
brothers, were successively preferred to him by the voice 
of the nation. Robert had every merit which can he 
pleaded for Richard; he was a bold knight, a good leader, 
generous to his friends and to the church, and, to crown 
the whole, a crusader and a conqueror of the Holy Sepul- 
chre; and yet he died a blind and miserable prisoner in the 
Castle of Cardiff , 1 because he opposed himself to the will 
of the people, who chose that he should not rule over them. 
It is our right,” he said, “ to choose from the blood royal 
the prince who is best qualified to hold the supreme power 
— that is,” said he, correcting himself, “ him whose election 
will best promote the interests of the nobility. In personal 
qualifications,” he added, “ it was possible that Prince J ohn 

1 See Table of English Ktngs. Duke Robert was kept a prisoner 
in Cardiff Castle in Wales from the battle of Tenchebray (1106) until 
his death in 1134. See Green’s Short History , Chap, ii, Section vi, 
and Norgate’s Angevin Kings , i, p. 13. 


170 


IVANHOE 


might be inferior to his brother Richard; hut when it was 
considered that the latter returned with the sword of ven- 
geance in his hand, while the former held out rewards, 
immunities, privileges, wealth, and honours, it could not he 
doubted which was the king whom in wisdom the nobility 
were called on to support.” : 

These, and many more arguments, some adapted to the 
peculiar circumstances of those whom he addressed, had 
the expected weight with the nobles of Prince John’s 
faction. Most of them consented to attend the proposed 
meeting at York, for the purpose of making general ar- 
rangements for placing the crown upon the head of Prince 
J ohn. 

It was late at night when, worn out and exhausted with 
his various exertions, however gratified with the result, 
Fitzurse, returning to the Castle of Ashby, met with De 
Bracy, who had exchanged his banqueting garments for 
a short green kirtle , 1 with hose of the same cloth and 
colour, a leathern cap or head-piece, a short sword, a horn 
slung over his shoulder, a long-how in his hand, and a 
bundle of arrows stuck in his belt. Had Fitzurse met this 
figure in an outer apartment, he would have passed him 
without notice, as one of the yeomen of the guard; but 
finding him in the inner hall, he looked at him with more 
attention, and recognised the Norman knight in the dress 
of an English yeoman/ 

“ What mummery is, this, De Bracy?” said Fitzurse, 
somewhat angrily; “ is this a time for Christmas gambols 2 
and quaint maskings, when the fate of our master, Prince 
John, is on the very verge of decision? Why hast thou 
not been, like me, among these heartless cravens, whom 
the very name of King Richard terrifies, as it is said to do 
the children of the Saracens? ” 

“I have been attending to mine own business!” answered 
De Bracy calmly, “ as you, Fitzurse, have been minding 
yours.” 

“I minding mine own business!” echoed Waldemar; 
“ I have been engaged in that of Prince John, our joint 
patron.” 

1 Doublet. 

2 Disguises and maskings were formerly a favourite amusement at 
Christmas time. 


IVAN HOE 


m 


“ As if thou hadst any other reason for that, Waldemar,” 
said De Braey, “ than the promotion of thine own indi- 
vidual interest? Come, Fitzurse, we know each other — 
ambition is thy pursuit, pleasure is mine, and they become 
our different ages. Of Prince John thou tliinkest as I do; 
that he is too weak to be a determined monarch, too tyran- 
nical to be an easy monarch, too insolent and presumptuous 
to be a popular monarch, and too fickle and timid to he 
long a monarch of any kind. But he is a monarch by 
whom Fitzurse and De Bracy hope to rise and thrive; and 
therefore you aid him with your policy, and I with the 
lances of my Free Companions.” 

“ A hopeful auxiliary,” said Fitzurse impatiently; “ play- 
ing the fool in the very moment of utter necessity. — What 
on earth dost thou purpose by this absurd disguise at a 
moment so urgent ? ” 

“ To get me a wife,” answered De Bracy coolly, “ after 
the manner of the tribe of Benjamin.” 1 

“ The tribe of Benjamin?” said Fitzurse; “I compre- 
hend thee not.” 

“ Wert thou not in presence yester-even,” said De Bracy, 
“ when we heard the Prior Aymer tell us a tale in reply to 
the romance which was sung by the Minstrel? — He told 
how, long since in Palestine, a deadly feud arose between 
the tribe of Benjamin and the rest of the Israelitish nation; 
and how they cut to pieces wMlnigh all the chivalry of that 
tribe; and how they swore by bur blessed Lady that they 
would not permit those who remained to marry in their 
lineage; and how they became grieved for their vow, and 
sent to consult his holiness the Pope how they might he 
absolved from it; and how, by the advice of the Holy 
Father, the youth of the tribe of Benjamin carried off from 
a superb tournament all the ladies who were there present, 
and thus won them wives without the consent either of 
their brides or their brides’ families.” 

“ I have heard the story,” said Fitzurse, “ though either 
the Prior or thou has made some singular alterations in 
date and circumstances.” 2 

1 See Judges xxi. 

2 Scott intends this as a humorous illustration of the way in which 
medieval romancers mingled history and legend and the manners and 
customs of different periods. 


172 


IVANHOE 


“ I tell thee,” said De Bracy, “ that I mean to purvey me 
a wife after the fashion of the tribe of Benjamin; which is 
as much as to say, that in this same equipment I will fall 
upon that herd of Saxon bullocks who have this night 
left the castle, and carry off from them the lovely Rowena.” 

“ Art thou mad, De Bracy?” said Fitzurse. “ Bethink 
thee that, though the men be Saxons, they are rich and 
powerful, and regarded with the more respect by their 
countrymen, that wealth and honour are but the lot of 
few of Saxon descent.” 

“ And should belong to none,” said De Bracy; “ the 
work of the Conquest should be completed.” 

“ This is no time for it at least,” said Fitzurse; “ the 
approaching crisis renders the favour of the multitude in- 
dispensable, and Prince John cannot refuse justice to any 
one who injures their favourites.” 

“ Let him grant it, if he dare,” said De Bracy; “ he will 
soon see the difference betwixt the support of such a lusty 
lot of spears as mine and that of a heartless mob of Saxon 
churls. Yet I mean no immediate discovery of myself. 
Seem I not in this garb as bold a forester as ever blew 
horn? The blame of the violence shall rest with the out- 
laws of the Yorkshire forests. I have sure spies on the 
Saxons’ motions. To-night they sleep in the convent of 
Saint Wittol , 1 or Withold, or whatever they call that churl 
of a Saxon Saint at Burton-on-Trent. Yext dav’s march 
brings them within our reach, and, falcon-ways , 2 we swoop 
on them at once. Presently after I will appear in mine 
own shape, play the courteous knight, rescue the unfor- 
tunate and afflicted fair one from the hands of the rude 
ravishers, conduct her to Front-de-BoeuPs Castle, or to 
Normandy, if it should be necessary, and produce her not 
again to her kindred until she be the bride and dame of 
Maurice De Bracy.” 

“ A marvellously sage plan,” said Fitzurse, “ and, as I 
think, not entirely of thine own device. — Come, be frank, 
De Bracy, who aided thee in the invention? and who is to 
assist in the execution? for, as I think, thine own band 
lies as far off as York.” 

“ Marry, if thou must needs know,” said De Bracy, “ it 

1 A Saxon word for a foolish person. 

2 Falcon-wise. 


IVANHOE 


173 


was the Templar Brian de Bois-Guilbert that shaped out 
the enterprise, which the adventure of the men of Benjamin 
suggested to me. He is to aid me in the onslaught, and 
he and his followers will personate the outlaws, from whom 
my valorous arm is, after changing my garb, to rescue the 
lady.” 

“ By my halidome,” said Fitzurse, “ the plan was worthy 
of your united wisdom! and thy prudence, De Bracy, is 
most especially manifested in the project of leaving the 
lady in the hands of thy worthy confederate. Thou mayst, 
I think, succeed in taking her from her Saxon friends, but 
how thou wilt rescue her afterwards from the clutches of 
Bois-Guilbert seems considerably more doubtful. He is a 
falcon well accustomed to pounce on a partridge, and to 
hold his prey fast.” 

“ He is a Templar,” said De Bracy, “ and cannot there- 
fore rival me in my plan of wedding this heiress; — and to 
attempt aught dishonourable against the intended bride of 
De Bracy — By Heaven! were he a whole Chapter of his 
Order 1 in his single person, he dared not do me such an 
injury! 

“ Then since nought that I can say,” said Fitzurse, “ will 
put this folly from thy imagination, (for well I know the 
obstinacy of thy disposition,) at least waste as little time as 
possible — let not thy folly be lasting as well as untimely.” 

“ I tell thee,” answered De Bracy, “ that it will be the 
work of a few hours, and I shall be at York at the head 
of my daring and valorous fellows, as ready to support 
any bold design as thy policy can be to form one. — But 
I hear my comrades assembling, and the steeds stamping 
and neighing in the outer court. — Farewell. — I go, like a 
true knight, to win the smiles of beauty.” 

“ Like a true knight ? ” repeated Fitzurse, looking after 
him; “ like a fool, I should say, or like a child, who will 
leave the most serious and needful occupation, to chase 
the down of the thistle that drives past him. — But it is 
with such tools that I must work; — and for whose advan- 
tage? — For that of a Prince as unwise as he is profligate, 
and as likely to be an ungrateful master as he has already 
proved a rebellious son and an unnatural brother. — But he 
— he, too, is but one of the tools with which I labour; and, 
1 The stated assembly of all the members of the order. 


174 


IV AN IIO E 


proud as he is, should he presume to separate his interest 
from mine, this is a secret which he shall soon learn.” 

The meditations of the statesman were here interrupted 
by the voice of the Prince from an interior apartment, 
calling out, “Noble Waldcmar Fitzurse!” and, with bonnet 
doffed, the future Chancellor (for to such high prefer- 
ment did the wily Norman aspire) hastened to receive the 
orders of the future sovereign. 

[This is a good example of an intrigue chapter, as distinguished 
from one devoted to the exposition of character or to the depiction 
of a situation. Its purpose is to furnish a link between two stages 
of the narrative, and explain the events of the chapters immediately 
succeeding. What do you think of Waldemar’s soliloquy, as com- 
pared with similar ones in Richard III , Othello, etc., where the 
villain outlines his scheme ? Is a soliloquy, as such, better suited to 
the drama than to the novel ?] 


CHAPTER XVI 


Far in a wild, unknown to public view, 

From youth to age, a reverend hermit grew ; 

The moss his bed, the cave his humble cell, 

His food the fruits, his drink the crystal well ; 

Remote from man, with God he pass’d his days, 

Prayer all his business— all his pleasure praise. 

Parnell. 

The reader cannot have forgotten that the event of the 
tournament was decided by the exertions of an unknown 
knight, whom, on account of the passive and indifferent 
conduct which he had manifested on the former part of the 
day, the spectators had entitled Le Noir Faineant. This 
knight had left the field abruptly when the victory was 
achieved; and when he was called upon to receive the 
reward of his valour, he was nowhere to he found. In the 
meantime, while summoned by heralds and by trumpets, 
the knight was holding his course northward, avoiding all 
frequented paths, and taking the shortest road through 
the woodlands. He paused for the night at a small 
hostelry lying out of the ordinary route, where, how- 
ever, he obtained from a wandering minstrel news of the 
event of the tourney. 

On the next morning the knight departed early, with the 
intention of making a long journey; the condition of his 
horse, which he had carefully spared during the preceding 
morning, being such as enabled him to travel far without 
the necessity of much repose. Yet his purpose was baffled 
by the devious paths through which he rode; so that, when 
evening closed upon him, he only found himself on the 
frontiers of the West Riding of Yorkshire. By this time 
both horse and man required refreshment, and it became 
necessary, moreover, to look out for some place in which 
they might spend the night, which was now fast approach- 
ing- 

The place where the traveller found himself seemed 


176 


IV AN HOE 


unpropitious for obtaining either shelter or refreshment, 
and he was likely to be reduced to the usual expedient of 
knights-errant, who, on such occasions, turned their horses 
to graze, and laid themselves down to meditate on their 
lady-mistress, with an oak-tree for a canopy. But the 
Black Knight either had no mistress to meditate upon, or, 
being as indifferent in love as he seemed to be in war, was 
not sufficiently occupied by passionate reflections upon her 
beauty and cruelty, to be able to parry the effects of fatigue 
and hunger, and suffer love to act as a substitute for the 
solid comforts of a bed and supper. He felt dissatisfied, 
therefore, when, looking around, he found himself deeply 
involved in woods, through which indeed there were many 
open glades, and some paths, but such as seemed only 
formed by the numerous herds of cattle which grazed in the 
forest, or by the animals of chase, and the hunters who 
made prey of them. 

The sun, by which the knight had chiefly directed his 
course, had now sunk behind the Derbyshire hills on his 
left, and every effort which he might make to pursue his 
journey was as likely to lead him out of his road as to 
advance him on his route. After having in vain en- 
deavoured to select the most beaten path, in hopes it might 
lead to the cottage of some herdsman, or the silvan lodge 
of a forester, and having repeatedly found himself totally 
unable to determine on a choice, the knight resolved to 
trust to the sagacity of his horse; experience having, on 
former occasions, made him acquainted with the wonder- 
ful talent possessed by these animals for extricating them- 
selves and their riders on such emergencies. 

The good steed, grievously fatigued with so long a day’s 
journey under a rider cased in mail, had no sooner found, 
by the slackened reins, that he was abandoned to his own 
guidance, than he seemed to assume new strength and 
spirit; and whereas formerly he had scarce replied to the 
spur otherwise than by a groan, he now, as if proud of the 
confidence reposed in him, pricked up his ears, and as- 
sumed, of his own accord, a more lively motion. The 
path which the animal adopted rather turned off from the 
course pursued by the knight during the day; but as the 
horse seemed confident in his choice, the rider abandoned 
himself to his discretion. 


IVANIIOE 


177 


He was justified by the event; for the footpath soon after 
appeared a little wider and more worn, and the tinkle of 
a small bell gave the knight to understand that he was in 
the vicinity of some chapel or hermitage. 

Accordingly, he soon reached an open plat of turf, on 
the opposite side of which, a rock, rising abruptly from a 
gently sloping plain, offered its grey and weatherbeaten 
front to the traveller. Ivy mantled its sides in some 
places, and in others oaks and holly bushes, whose roots 
found nourishment in the cliffs of the crag, waved over' the 
precipices below, like the plumage of the warrior over his 
steel helmet, giving grace to that whose chief expression 
was terror. At the bottom of the rock, and leaning, as it 
were, against it, was constructed a rude hut, built chiefly 
of the trunks of trees felled in the neighbouring forest, 
and secured against the weather by having its crevices 
stuffed with moss mingled with clay. The stem of a young 
fir-tree lopped of its branches, with a piece of wood tied 
across near the top, was planted upright by the door, as a 
rude emblem of the holy cross. At a little distance on the 
right hand, a fountain of the purest water trickled out of 
the rock, and was received in a hollow stone, which labour 
had formed into a rustic basin. Escaping from thence, the 
stream murmured down the descent by a channel which 
its course had long worn, and so wandered through the 
little plain to lose itself in the neighbouring wood. 

Beside this fountain were the ruins of a very small 
chapel, of which the roof had partly fallen in. The build- 
ing, when entire, had never been above sixteen feet long 
by twelve feet in breadth, and the roof, low in proportion, 
rested upon four concentric arches which sprung from the 
four corners of the building, each supported upon a short 
and heavy pillar. The ribs of two of these arches remained, 
though the roof had fallen down betwixt them; over the 
others it remained entire. The entrance to this ancient place 
of devotion was under a very low round arch, ornamented 
by several courses of that zig-zag moulding, resembling 
shark’s teeth, which appears so often in the more ancient 
Saxon architecture. A belfry rose above the porch on four 
small pillars, within which hung the green and weather- 
beaten bell, the feeble sounds of which had been some 
time before heard by the Black Knight. 

12 


178 


IVANHOE 


The whole peaceful and quiet scene lay glimmering in 
twilight before the eyes of the traveller, giving him good 
assurance of lodging for the night; since it was a special 
duty of those hermits who dwelt in the woods to exercise 
hospitality towards benighted or bewildered passengers. 

Accordingly, the knight took no time to consider mi- 
nutely the particulars which we have detailed, but thanking 
Saint Julian 1 (the patron of travellers) who had sent him 
good harbourage, he leaped from his horse and assailed the 
door of the hermitage with the butt of his lance, in order 
to arouse attention and gain admittance. 

It was some time before he obtained anv answer, and the 
reply, when made, was unpropitious. 

“ Pass on, whosoever thou art,” was the answer given by 
a deep hoarse voice from within the hut, “ and disturb not 
the servant of God and St. Dunstan in his evening devo- 
tions.” 

“ Worthy father,” answered the knight, “ here is a poor 
wanderer bewildered in these woods, who gives thee the 
opportunity of exercising thy charity and hospitality.” 

“Good brother,” replied the inhabitant of the hermitage, 
“ it has pleased Our Lady and St. Dunstan to destine me 
for the object of those virtues, instead of the exercise there- 
of. I have no provisions here which even a dog would 
share with me, and a horse of any tenderness of nurture 
would despise my couch — pass therefore on thy way, and 
God speed thee.” 

“ But how,” replied the knight, “ is it possible for me 
to find my way through such a wood as this, when darkness 
is coming on? I pray you, reverend father, as you are a 
Christian, to undo your door, and at least point out to me 
my road.” 

“ And I pray you, good Christian brother,” replied the 
anchorite, “to disturb me no more. You have already 
interrupted one pater, 2 two aves, 3 and a credo* which 1, 
miserable sinner that I am, should, according to my vow, 
have said before moonrise.” 

1 The legendary saint of hospitality. See Chaucer’s Prologue , 
1. 340. 2 Pater noster ; “ Our Father.” 

3 Ave Maria (“Hail, Mary” ; Luke i. 28), a prayer used in the 
Roman Church. 

4 The Apostles’ creed, which begins in the Latin version with the 
words “Credo in Deum.” 


IV AN HOE 


179 


“ The road — the road! ” vociferated the knight; “give 
me directions for the road, if I am to expect no more from 
thee.” 

“ The road,” replied the hermit, “ is easy to hit. The 
path from the wood leads to a morass, and from thence to 
a ford, which, as the rains have abated, may now he pass- 
able. When thou hast crossed the ford, thou wilt take care 
of thy footing up the left bank, as it is somewhat precipi- 
tous; and the path, which hangs over the river, has lately, 
as I learn, (for I seldom leave the duties of my chapel,) 
given way in sundry places. Thou wilt then keep straight 
forward ” 

“A broken path — a precipice — a ford, and a morass!” 
said the knight interrupting him, — “ Sir Hermit, if you 
were the holiest that ever wore beard or told bead, you 
shall scarce prevail on me to hold this road to-night. I tell 
thee, that thou, who livest by the charity of the country — 
ill deserved, as I doubt it is — hast no right to refuse shelter 
to the wayfarer when in distress. Either open the door 
quickly, or, by the rood, I will beat it down and make 
entry for myself.” 

“ Friend wayfarer,” replied the hermit, “ be not impor- 
tunate; if thou puttest me to use the carnal weapon in 
mine own defence, it will be e’en the worse for you.” 

At this moment a distant noise of barking and growling, 
which the traveller had for some time heard, became ex- 
tremely loud and furious, and made the knight suppose 
that the hermit, alarmed by his threat of making forcible 
entry, had called the dogs who made this clamour to aid 
him in his defence, out of some inner recess in which they 
had been kennelled. Incensed at this preparation on the 
hermit’s part for making good his inhospitable purpose, 
the knight struck the door so furiously with his foot, that 
posts as well as staples shook with violence. 

The anchorite, not caring again to expose his door to a 
similar shock, now called out aloud, “ Patience, patience — 
spare thy strength, good traveller, and I will presently 
undo the door, though, it may be, my doing so will be 
little to thy pleasure.” 

The door accordingly was opened; and the hermit, a 
large, strong-built man, in his sackcloth gown and hood, 
girt with a rope of rushes, stood before tire knight. He 


180 


IVAN IIO E 


had in one hand a lighted torch, or link, and in the other 
a baton of crab-tree, so thick and heavy that it might well 
be termed a club. Two large shaggy dogs, half greyhound 
half mastiff, stood ready to rush upon the traveller as soon 
as the door should be opened. But when the torch glanced 
upon the lofty crest and golden spurs of the knight who 
stood without, the hermit, altering probably his original 
intentions, repressed the rage of his auxiliaries, and, chang- 
ing his tone to a sort of churlish courtesy, invited the 
knight to enter his hut, making excuse for his unwilling- 
ness to open his lodge after sunset, by alleging the multi- 
tude of robbers and outlaws who were abroad, and who 
gave no honour to Our Lady or St. Dunstan, nor to those 
holy men who spent life in their service. 

“ The poverty of your cell, good father,” said the knight, 
looking around him, and seeing nothing but a bed of 
leaves, a crucifix rudely carved in oak, a missal , 1 with a 
rough-hewn table and two stools, and one or two clumsy 
articles of furniture — “ the poverty of your cell should 
seem a sufficient defence against any risk of thieves, not to 
mention the aid of two trusty dogs, large and strong 
enough, I think, to pull down a stag, and of course, to 
match with most men.” 

“ The good keeper of the forest,” said the hermit, “ hath 
allowed me the use of these animals, to protect my solitude 
until the times shall mend.” 

Having said this, he fixed his torch in a twisted branch 
of iron which served for a candlestick; and, placing the 
oaken trivet 2 before the embers of the fire, which he re- 
freshed with some dry wood, he placed a stool upon one 
side of the table, and beckoned to the knight to do the 
same upon the other. 

They sat down, and gazed with great gravity at each 
other, each thinking in liis heart that he had seldom seen 
a stronger or more athletic figure than was placed opposite 
to him. 

“ Reverend hermit,” said the knight, after looking long 
and fixedly at his host, “ were it not to interrupt your 
devout meditations, I would pray to know three things of 
your holiness; first, where I am to put my horse? — secondly, 

1 The mass-book used in the Roman Church. 

2 A three-legged stool or small table. 


IVANHOE 


181 


what I can have for supper? — thirdly, where I am to take 
up my couch for the night? ” 

“ I will reply to you/' said the hermit, “ with my finger, 
it being against my rule to speak by words where signs 
can answer the purpose.” So saying, he pointed succes- 
sively to two corners of the hut. “ Your stable,” said he, 
u is there — your bed there; and,” reaching down a platter 
with two handfuls of parched pease upon it from the 
neighbouring shelf, and placing it upon the table, he 
added, “ your supper is here.” 

The knight shrugged his shoulders, and leaving the hut, 
brought in his horse, (which in the interim he had fastened 
to a tree,) unsaddled him with much attention, and spread 
upon the steed's weary back his own mantle. 

The hermit was apparently somewhat moved to com- 
passion by the anxiety as well as address which the stranger 
displayed in tending his horse; for, muttering something 
about provender left for the keeper's palfrey, he dragged 
out of a recess a bundle of forage, which he spread before 
the knight's charger, and immediately afterwards shook 
down a quantity of dried fern in the corner which he had 
assigned for the rider's couch. The knight returned him 
thanks for his courtesy; and, this duty done, both resumed 
their seats by the table, wjiereon stood the trencher of pease 
placed between them. The hermit, after a long grace, 
which had once been Latin, but of which original language 
few traces remained, excepting here and there the long 
rolling termination of some word or phrase, set example 
to his guest, by modestly putting into a very large mouth, 
furnished with teeth which might have ranked with those 
of a boar both in sharpness and whiteness, some three or 
four dried pease, a miserable grist as it seemed for so large 
and able a mill. 

The knight, in order to follow so laudable an example, 
laid aside his helmet, his corslet , 1 and the greater part of. 
his armour, and showed to the hermit a head thick-curled 
with yellow hair , 2 high features, blue eyes, remarkably 
bright and sparkling, a mouth well formed, having an 
upper lip clothed with mustachoes darker than his hair, and 

1 Armour for the protection of the breast and back. 

2 Compare this description with that of Richard I in The Talisman , 
Chapter vi. 


182 


IVANHOE 


bearing altogether the look of a bold, daring, and enterpris- 
ing man, with which his strong form well corresponded. 

The hermit, as if wishing to answer to the confidence of 
his guest, threw back his cowl, and showed a round bullet 
head belonging to a man in the prime of life. His close- 
shaven crown, surrounded by a circle of stiff curled black 
hair, had something the appearance of a parish pinfold 1 
begirt by its high hedge. The features expressed nothing 
of monastic austerity, or of ascetic privations; on the con- 
trary, it was a bold bluif countenance, with broad black 
eyebrows, a well-turned forehead, and cheeks as round and 
vermilion as those of a trumpeter, from which descended a 
long and curly black beard. Such a visage, joined to the 
brawny form of the holy man, spoke rather of sirloins and 
haunclies than of pease and pulse. This incongruity did 
not escape the guest. After he had with great difficulty 
accomplished the mastication of a mouthful of the dried 
pease, he found it absolutely necessary to request his pious 
entertainer to furnish him with some liquor; who replied 
to his request by placing before him a large can of the 
purest water from the fountain. 

“ It is from the well of St. Dunstan,” said he, “ in which, 
betwixt sun and sun, he baptized five hundred heathen 
Danes 2 and Britons — blessed be his name! ” And apply- 
ing his black beard to the pitcher, he took a draught much 
more moderate in quantity than his encomium seemed to 
warrant. 

“ It seems to me, reverend father,” said the knight, “ that 
the small morsels which you eat, together with this holy 
but somewhat thin beverage, have thriven with you mar- 
vellously. You appear a man more fit to win the ram at 
a wrestling match, or the ring at a bout at quarter-staff, or 
the bucklers at a sword-play, than to linger out your time 
in this desolate wilderness, saying masses, and living upon 
parched pease and cold water.” 

“ Sir Knight,” answered the hermit, “ your thoughts, 
like those of the ignorant laity, are according to the flesh. 
It has pleased Our Lady and my patron saint to bless the 
pittance to which I restrain myself, even as the pulse and 

1 The pen or “ pound ” for confining: stray cattle. 

2 The Danish settlements in eastern England took place during the 
ninth, tenth, and eleventh centuries. 


TV AN HOB 


183 


water was blessed to the children Shadraeh, Meshech, and 
Abednego, who drank the same rather than defile them- 
selves with the wine and meats which were appointed them 
by the King of the Saracens.” 1 

“ Holy father / 7 said the knight, “ upon whose coun- 
tenance it hath pleased Heaven to work such a miracle, 
permit a sinful layman to crave thy name? 77 

“ Thou mayst call me , 77 answered the hermit, “ the 
Clerk 2 * of Copmanhurst, for so I am termed in these parts. 
They add, it is true, the epithet holy, but I stand not 
upon that, as being unworthy of such addition. — And now, 
valiant knight, may I pray ye for the name of my honour- 
able guest? 77 

“ Truly , 77 said the knight, “ Holy Clerk of Copmanhurst, 
men call me in these parts the Black Knight, — many, sir, 
add to it the epithet of Sluggard, whereby I am no way 
ambitious to be distinguished . 77 

The hermit could scarcely forbear from smiling at his 
guest’s reply. 

“ I see , 77 said he, “ Sir Sluggish Knight, that thou art 
a man of prudence and of counsel; and, moreover, I see that 
my poor monastic fare likes thee not, accustomed, perhaps, 
as thou hast been, to the license of courts and of camps, 
and the luxuries of cities; and now I bethink me, Sir 
Sluggard, that when the charitable keeper of this forest- 
walk left those dogs for my protection, and also those bun- 
dles of forage, he left me also some food, which, being 
unfit for my use, the very recollection of it had escaped 
me amid my more weighty meditations . 77 

“ I dare be sworn he did so , 77 said the knight; “ I was 
convinced that there was better food in the cell, Holy 
Clerk, since you first doffed your cowl. — Your keeper is ever 
a jovial fellow; and none who beheld thy grinders contend- 
ing with these pease, and thy throat flooded with this unge- 
nial element, could see thee doomed to such horse-provender 
and horse-beverage , 77 (pointing to the provisions upon the 
table,) “ and refrain from mending thy cheer. Let us 
see the keeper’s bounty, therefore, without delay.” 

1 This is the same deliberate confusion of terms as that already 
pointed out in Chapter xv. 

2 Latin “clericus,” a priest ; also used to denote one who had some 

education. 


184 


IVAN HOE 


The hermit cast a wistful look upon the knight, in which 
there was a sort of comic expression of hesitation, as if 
uncertain how far he should act prudently in trusting his 
guest. There was, however, as much of hold frankness 
in the knight’s countenance as was possible to be expressed 
by features. His smile, too, had something in it irresistibly 
comic, and gave an assurance of faith and loyalty with 
which his host could not refrain from sympathizing. 

After exchanging a mute glance or two, the hermit went 
to the further side of the hut, and opened a hutch , 1 which 
was concealed with great care and some ingenuity. Out 
of the recesses of a dark closet, into which this aperture 
gave admittance, he brought a large pasty, baked in a 
pewter platter of unusual dimensions. This mighty dish 
he placed before his guest, who, using his poniard to cut it 
open, lost no time in making himself acquainted with its 
contents. 

“ How long is it since the good keeper has been here? ” 
said the knight to his host, after having swallowed several 
hasty morsels of this reinforcement to the hermit’s good 
cheer. 

“ About two months,” answered the father hastily. 

“ By the true Lord,” answered the knight, “ every thing 
in your hermitage is miraculous, Holy Clerk! for I would 
have been sworn that the fat buck which furnished this 
venison had been running on foot within the week.” 

The hermit was somewhat discountenanced by this ob- 
servation; and, moreover, he made hut a poor figure while 
gazing on the diminution of the pasty, on which his guest 
was making desperate inroads; a warfare in which his 
previous profession of abstinence left him no pretext for 
joining. 

“ I have been in Palestine, Sir Clerk,” said the knight, 
stopping short of a sudden, “ and I bethink me it is a 
custom there that every host who entertains a guest shall 
assure him of the wholesomeness of his food, by partaking 
of it along with him. Far he it from me to suspect so 
holy a man of aught inhospitable; nevertheless, I will he 
highly hound to you would you comply with this Eastern 
custom.” 

“ To ease your unnecessary scruples, Sir Knight, I will 

1 A box or bin for storage. 


IV AN 110 E 


185 


for once depart from my rule/’ replied the hermit. And 
as there were no forks in those days, his clutches were in- 
stantly in the bowels of the pasty. 

The ice of ceremony being once broken, it seemed matter 
of rivalry between the guest and the entertainer which 
should display the best appetite; and although the former 
had probably fasted longest, yet the hermit fairly sur- 
passed him. 

“ Holy Clerk,” said the knight, when his hunger was ap- 
peased, “ I would gage my good horse yonder against a zec- 
chin, that that same honest keeper to whom we are obliged 
for the venison has left thee a stoup 1 of wine, or a runlet 2 
of canary , 3 or some such trifle, by way of ally to this noble 
pasty. This would be a circumstance, doubtless, totally 
unworthy to dwell in the memory of so rigid an anchorite; 
yet, I think, were you to search yonder crypt 4 once more, 
you would find that I am right in my conjecture.” 

The hermit only replied by a grin; and returning to the 
hutch, he produced a leathern bottle, which might contain 
about four quarts. He also brought forth two large drink- 
ing cups, made out of thehorn of the urus , 5 and hooped with 
silver. Having made this goodly provision for washing 
down the supper, he seemed to think no farther ceremo- 
nious scruple necessary on his part; but filling both cups, 
and saying, in the Saxon fashion, “ Waes hael , 6 Sir Slug- 
gish Knight! ” he emptied his own at a draught. 

“Drink hael , 6 Holy Clerk of Copmanhurst! ” answered 
the warrior, and did his host reason in a similar brimmer. 

“ Holy Clerk,” said the stranger, after the first cup was 
thus swallowed, “ I cannot hut marvel that a man possessed 
of such thews and sinews as thine, and who therewithal 
shows the talent of so goodly a trencher-man , 7 should 
think of abiding by himself in this wilderness. In my 
judgment, you are fitter to keep a castle or a fort, eating 
of the fat and drinking of 'the strong , 8 than to live here 

1 Beaker. 2 Rundlet ; a small cask. 

3 Wine from the Canary Islands. 

4 A vault beneath a church ; here used humorously to denote a 

concealed place. 

5 An extinct animal allied to the buffalo. 

6 “ Your health ” ; “ Drink health.” 

7 So hearty an eater. 

8 Compare Nehemiah viii. 10. 


186 


IVANHOE 


upon pulse and water, or even upon the charity of the 
keeper. At least, were I as thou, I should find myself 
both disport and plenty out of the king’s deer. There 
is many a goodly herd in these forests, and a buck will 
never be missed that goes to the use of Saint Dunstan’s 
chaplain.” 

“ Sir Sluggish Knight,” replied the Clerk, “ these are 
dangerous words, and I pray you to forbear them. I am 
true hermit to the king and law, and were I to spoil my 
liege’s game, I should be sure of the prison, and, an my 
gown saved me not , 1 were in some peril of hanging.” 

“ Nevertheless, were I as thou,” said the knight, “ I 
would take my walk by moonlight, when foresters and 
keepers were warm in bed, and ever and anon, — as I pat- 
tered 2 my prayers, — I would let fly a shaft among the 
herds of dun 3 deer that feed in the glades. Resolve 4 me, 
Holy Clerk, hast thou never practised such a pastime ? ” 

“ Friend Sluggard,” answered the hermit, “ thou hast 
seen all that can concern thee of my housekeeping, and 
something more than he deserves who takes up his quarters 
by violence. Credit me, it is better to enjoy the good which 
God sends thee than to be impertinently curious how it 
comes. Fill thy cup, and welcome; and do not, I pray thee, 
by further impertinent enquiries, put me to show that thou 
couldst hardly have made good thy lodging had I been 
earnest to oppose thee.” 

“ By my faith,” said the knight, “ thou makest me more 
curious than ever! Thou art the most mysterious hermit 
I ever met; and I will know more of thee ere we part. As 
for thy threats, know, holy man, thou speakest to one 
whose trade it is to find out danger wherever it is to he 
met with.” 

“ Sir Sluggish Knight, I drink to thee,” said the hermit; 
“ respecting thy valour much, but deeming wondrous 
slightly of thy discretion. If thou wilt take equal arms 
with me, I will give thee, in all friendship and brotherly 

1 A reference to “the benefit of clergy”; a plea which saved a 
priest — and later, all laymen who could read — from criminal process 
before a secular judge. 

2 Repeated rapidly ; muttered. See Mcirmion, vi, 27. 

3 Of a dull brown or fallow color. 

* Tell me. 


IVANHOE 


187 


love, such sufficing penance and complete absolution, that 
thou shalt not for the next twelve months sin the sin of 
excess of curiosity.” 

The knight pledged him, and desired him to name his 
weapons. 

There is none,” replied the hermit, “ from the scissors 
of Delilah , 1 and the tenpenny nail of Jael , 2 to the scimitar 
of Goliath , 3 at which I am not a match for thee. But, if 
I am to make the election, what sayst thou, good friend, 
to these trinkets ? ” 

Thus speaking, he opened another hutch, and took out 
from it a couple of broadswords and bucklers, such as were 
used by the yeomanry of the period. The knight, who 
watched his motions, observed that this second place of 
concealment was furnished with two or three good long- 
bows, a cross-bow, a bundle of bolts for the latter, and 
half a dozen sheaves of arrows for the former. A harp, 
and other matters of a very uncanonical appearance, were 
also visible when this dark recess was opened. 

“ I promise thee, brother Clerk,” said he, “ I will ask 
thee no more offensive questions. The contents of that 
cupboard are an answer to all my enquiries; and I see a 
weapon there ” (here he stooped and took out the harp) 
“ on which I would more gladly prove my skill with thee 
than at the sword and buckler.” 

“ I hope, Sir Knight,” said the hermit, “ thou hast 
given no good reason for thy surname of the Sluggard. I 
do promise thee I suspect thee grievously. Nevertheless, 
thou art my guest, and I will not put thy manhood to the 
proof without thine own free will. Sit thee down, then, 
and fill thy cup; let us drink, sing, and be merry. If thou 
knowest ever a good lay, thou shalt be welcome to a nook 4 
of pasty at Copmanhurst so long as I serve the chapel of St. 
Dunstan, which, please God, shall be till I change my grey 
covering for one of green turf. But come, fill a flagon, 
for it will crave 5 some time to tune the harp; and nought 
pitches the voice and sharpens the ear like a cup of wine. 

1 Judges xvi. 

2 Judges iv. 

3 1 Samuel xvii. 

4 Piece. 

6 Require. 


188 


IVANIIOE 


For my part, I love to feel the grape at my very finger-ends 
before they make the harp-strings tinkle.” * 

* The Jolly Hermit. — All readers, however slightly acquainted 
with black letter, must recognise, in the Clerk of Copmanhurst, Friar 
Tuck, the buxom Confessor of Robin Hood’s gang, the Curtal Friar 
of Fountain’s Abbey. [Scott.] 

[This is another comic interlude, in Scott’s richest vein, and is the 
first of five forest chapters which separate the Rotherwood and 
Ashby groups of chapters from the eleven chapters that deal with 
the siege of Torquilstone. For the role played by Friar Tuck in the 
Robin Hood ballads, see the previous references to them. Scott’s 
fondness for exhibiting the human — not to say worldly — side of his 
clerical figures is noticeable. Can you recall any instances of it ?] 


CHAPTER XVII 


At eve, within yon studious nook, 

I ope my brass-embossed book, 

Portray’d with many a holy deed 
Of martyrs crown’d with heavenly meed ; 

Then, as my taper waxes dim, 

Chant, ere I sleep, my measured hymn. 

* * * * 

Who but would cast his pomp away, 

To take my staff and amice grey, 

And to the world’s tumultuous stage, 

Prefer the peaceful Hermitage ? 

Warton. 

Notwithstanding the prescription of the genial hermit, 
with which his guest willingly complied, he found it no 
easy matter to bring the harp to harmony. 

“ Methinks, holy father/’ said he, “The instrument wants 
one string, and the rest have been somewhat misused.” 

“Ay, mark’st thou that?” replied the hermit; “ that 
shows thee a master of the craft. Wine and wassail,” he 
added, gravely casting up his eyes — “ all the fault of wine 
and wassail! — I told Allan-a-Dale, 1 the northern minstrel, 
that he would damage the harp if he touched it after the 
seventh cup, hut he would not he controlled. — Friend, I 
drink to thy successful performance.” 

So saying, he took off his cup with much gravity, at the 
same time shaking Ris head at the intemperance of. the 
Scottish harper. 

The knight, in the meantime, had brought the strings 
into some order, and after a short prelude asked his host 
whether he would choose a sirvente in the language of oc , 
or a lai in the language of out, or a virelai, or a ballad in the 
vulgar English A 

<e A ballad, 2 a ballad,” said the hermit, “ against all the 

* Note C. Minstrelsy. [Scott.] 

1 The famous minstrel of Robin Hood’s band. 

2 A narrative poem suited for recital or singing. 


190 


1VANIIOE 


ocs and ouis of France. Downright English am I, Sir 
Knight, and downright English was my patron St. Dun- 
stan, and scorned oc and oui, as he would have scorned the 
parings of the devil’s hoof — downright English alone shall 
be sung in his cell.” 

“ I will assay, then,” said the knight, “ a ballad com- 
posed by a Saxon glee-man , 1 whom I knew in Holy Land.” 

It speedily appeared that if the knight was not a com- 
plete master of the minstrel art, his taste for it had at least 
been cultivated under the best instructors. Art had taught 
him to soften the faults of a voice which had little com- 
pass, and was naturally rough rather than mellow, and, in 
short, had done all that culture can do in supplying natural 
deficiencies. His performance, therefore, might have been 
termed very respectable by abler judges than the hermit, 
especially as the knight threw into the notes now a degree 
of spirit, and now of plaintive enthusiasm, which gave 
force and energy to the verses which he sung. 

THE CRUSADER’S RETURN 

1 

High deeds achieved of knightly fame, 

From Palestine the champion came ; 

The cross upon his shoulders borne, 

Battle and blast had dimm’d and torn. 

Each dint upon his batter’d shield 
Was token of a foughten field ; 

And thus, beneath his lady’s bower, 

He sung, as fell the twilight hour : — 

2 

“ Joy to the fair ! — thy knight behold, 

Return’d from yonder land of gold ; 

No wealth he brings, nor wealth can need. 

Save his good arms and battle-steed ; 

His spurs, to dash against a foe, 

His lance and sword to lay him low ; 

Such all the trophies of his toil, 

Such — and the hope of Tekla’s smile ! 

3 

“ Joy to the fair ! whose constant knight 
Her favour fired to feats of might ; 

Unnoted shall she not remain, 

Where meet the bright and noble train ; 

1 The Saxon name for a minstrel (“ joy-man”). 


IV AN HOE 


191 


Minstrel shall sing and herald tell— 

‘ Mark yonder maid of beauty well, 

’Tis she for whose bright eyes were won 
The listed field at Askalon ! 

4 

“ ‘ Note well her smile !— it edged the blade 
Which fifty wives to widows made, 

When, vain his strength and Mahound’s spell, 
Iconium’s 1 turban’d Soldan fell. 

Seest thou her locks, whose sunny glow 
Half shows, half shades, her neck of snow ? 

Twines not of them one golden thread, 

But for its sake a Paynim 2 bled.’ 

5 

“ Joy to the fair ! — my name unknown, 

Each deed, and all its praise thine own ; 

Then, oh ! unbar this churlish gate, 

The night dew falls, the hour is late. 

Inured to Syria’s glowing breath, 

I feel the north breeze chill as death ; 

Let grateful love quell maiden shame, 

And grant him bliss who brings thee fame.” 

During this performance, the hermit demeaned himself 
much like a first-rate critic of the present day at a new 
opera. He reclined back upon his seat, with his eyes half 
shut; now, folding his hands and twisting his thumbs, he 
seemed absorbed in attention, and anon, balancing his ex- 
panded palms, he gently flourished them in time to the 
music. At one or two favourite cadences, he threw in a 
little assistance of his own, where the knight’s voice seemed 
unable to carry the air so high as his worshipful taste ap- 
proved. When the song was ended, the anchorite em- 
phatically declared it a good one, and well sung. 

“ And yet,” said he, “ I think my Saxon countrymen 
had herded long enough with the Normans, to fall into the 
tone of their melancholy ditties. What took the honest 
knight from home? or what could he expect but to find his 
mistress agreeably engaged with a rival on his return, and 
his serenade, as they call it, as little regarded as the cater- 
wauling of a cat in the gutter? Nevertheless, Sir Knight, 

1 The ancient name of Konieh, in Asia Minor, which was taken by 
Frederick Barbarossa in 1190. 

2 Pagan ; heathen. 


192 


IVANHOE 


I drink this cup to thee, to the success of all true lovers. — 
I fear you are none,” he added, on observing that the 
knight (whose brain began to be heated with these repeated 
draughts) qualified his flagon from the water pitcher. 

“Why,” said the knight, “ did you not tell me that this 
water was from the well of your blessed patron, St. 
Dunstan ? ” 

“ Ay, truly,” said the hermit, “ and many a hundred of 
pagans did he baptize there, but I never heard that he drank 
any of it. Every thing should be put to its proper use in 
this world. St. Dunstan knew, as well as any one, the 
prerogatives of a jovial friar.” 

And so saying, he reached the harp, and entertained his 
guest with the following characteristic song, to a sort of 
derry-down 1 chorus, appropriate to an old English ditty. * 

THE BAREFOOTED FRIAR 
1 

I’ll give thee, good fellow, a twelvemonth or twain, 

To search Europe through, from Byzantium to Spain ; 

But ne’er shall you find, should you search till you tire, 

So happy a man as the Barefooted Friar. 

2 

Your knight for his lady pricks forth in career ; 

And is brought home at even-song prick’d through with a spear ; 
I confess him in haste — for his lady desires 
No comfort on earth save the Barefooted Friar’s. 


8 

Your monarch ? — Pshaw ! many a prince has been known 
To barter his robes for our cowl and our gown, 

But which of us e’er felt the idle desire 
To exchange for a crown the grey hood of a Friar ! 

4 

The Friar has walk’d out, and where’er he has gone, 

The land and its fatness is mark’d for his own ; 

He can roam where he lists, he can stop when he tires, 

For every man’s house is the Barefooted Friar’s. 

* It may be proper to remind the reader, that the chorus of “ derry 
down ” is supposed to be as ancient, not only as the times of the 
Heptarchy, but as those of the Druids, and to have furnished the 
chorus to the hymns of those venerable persons when they went to 
the wood to gather mistletoe. [Scott.] 

1 A meaningless refrain in old songs. See Scott’s note. 


IVAN HOE 


193 


5 

He’s expected at noon, and no wight till he comes 
May profane the great chair, or the porridge of plums ; 

For the best of the cheer, and the seat by the fire, 

Is the undenied right of the Barefooted Friar. 

6 

He’s expected at night, and the pasty’s made hot, 

They broach the brown ale, and they fill the black pot, 

And the goodwife would wish the goodman in the mire, 

Ere he lack’d a soft pillow, the Barefooted Friar. 

7 

Long flourish the sandal, the cord, and the cope, 

The dread of the devil and trust of the Pope ; 

For to gather life’s roses, unscathed by the briar, 

Is granted alone to the Barefooted Friar. 

“ By my troth/* said the knight, “ thou hast sung well 
and lustily, and in high praise of thine order. And, talk- 
ing of the devil, Holy Clerk, are you not afraid that he may 
pay you a visit during some of your uncanonical pastimes? ** 
“I uncanonical!** answered the hermit; “I scorn the 
charge — I scorn it with my heels! — I serve the duty of 
my chapel duly and truly: two masses daily, morning 
and evening, primes, noons, and vespers, aves, credos, 
paters ** 

“ Excepting moonlight nights, when the venison is in 
season,** said his guest. 

“ Exceptis excipiendis ,** 1 replied the hermit, “ as our old 
abbot taught me to say, when impertinent laymen should 
ask me if I kept every punctilio 1 2 of mine order.** 

“ True, holy father,** said the knight; “ but the devil is 
apt to keep an eye on such exceptions; he goes about, thou 
knowest, like a roaring lion.** 

“ Let him roar here if he dares,** said the friar; “ a touch 
of my cord will make him roar as loud as the tongs 3 of St. 
Dunstan himself did. I never feared man, and I as little 
fear the devil and his imps. Saint Dunstan, Saint Dubric , 4 

1 Exceptions being excepted. 

2 Nice point. 

3 A reference to a legendary episode in the life of St. Dunstan 
(924-988), Archbishop of Canterbury. 

4 A Welsh saint who died early in the sixth century. 

13 


194 


IVANEOE 


Saint Willibald, 1 Saint Winifred, 2 Saint Swibert, 3 Saint 
Willick, 4 not forgetting Saint Thomas a Kent, 5 and my own 
poor merits to speed, I defy every devil of them, come cut 
and long tail. 6 — But to let you into a secret, I never speak 
upon such subjects, my friend, until after morning ves- 
pers/ 7 7 

He changed the conversation; fast and furious grew the 
mirth of the parties, and many a song was exchanged be- 
twixt them, when their revels were interrupted by a loud 
knocking at the door of the hermitage. 

The occasion of this interruption w r e can only explain 
by resuming the adventures of another set of our char- 
acters; for, like old Ariosto, 8 we did not pique ourselves 
upon continuing uniformly to keep company with any one 
personage of our drama. 

1 An English saint, one of the early missionaries to Germany in 
the eighth century. 

2 Boniface (d. 755), the famous English apostle to the Germans. 

3 Another apostle to the Germans (d. 713). 

4 Scott may mean St. Ulrick (d. 1154), who lived near Bristol. 

5 Thomas a Becket of Canterbury. 

6 Come every kind. 

7 Vespers means strictly an evening service (“even-song”). The 
friar’s confusion of terms is significant. 

8 The celebrated Italian poet (1474-1533), author of Orlando 
Furioso. Scott himself was sometimes called the “Ariosto of the 
North,” though the allusion in the text is naturally a jocose one. 


[It is only an artificial division, of course, which separates this 
chapter from the preceding one. From your knowledge of Scott’s 
poetry, do you consider the songs in this chapter a fair representation 
of his skill in that field ?] 


CHAPTER XVIII 


Away ! our journey lies through dell and dingle, 

Where the blithe fawn trips by its timid mother, 

Where the broad oak, with intercepting boughs, 

Chequers the sunbeam in the green-sward alley — 

Up and away ! — for lovely paths are these 
To tread, when the glad Sun is on his throne ; 

Less pleasant, and less safe, when Cynthia’s lamp 
With doubtful glimmer lights the dreary forest. 

Ettrick Forest. 

When Cedric the Saxon saw his son drop down senseless 
in the lists at Ashby, his first impulse was to order him 
into the custody and care of his own attendants, but the 
words choked in his throat. He could not bring himself 
to acknowledge, in presence of such an assembly, the son 
whom he had renounced and disinherited. He ordered, 
however, Oswald to keep an eye upon him; and directed 
that officer, with two of his serfs, to convey Ivanhoe to 
Ashby as soon as the crowd had dispersed. Oswald, how- 
ever, was anticipated in this good office. The crowd dis- 
persed, indeed, hut the knight was nowhere to he seen. 

It was in vain that Cedric’s cupbearer looked around for 
his young master — he saw the bloody spot on which he 
had lately sunk down, hut himself he saw no longer; it 
seemed as if the fairies had conveyed him from the spot. 
Perhaps Oswald (for the Saxons were very superstitious) 
might have adopted some such hypothesis to account for 
Ivanhoe’s disappearance, had he not suddenly cast his eye 
upon a person attired like a squire, in whom he recognised 
the features of his fellow-servant Gurth. Anxious concern- 
ing his master’s fate, and in despair at his sudden disappear- 
ance, the translated 1 swineherd was searching for him 
everywhere, and had neglected, in doing so, the conceal- 
ment on which his own safety depended. Oswald deemed 


1 Transformed. 


196 


IVANIIOE 


it his duty to secure Gurth, as a fugitive of whose fate his 
master was to judge. 

Renewing his enquiries concerning the fate of Ivanhoe, 
the only information which the cupbearer could collect 
from the bystanders was, that the knight had been raised 
with care by certain well-attired grooms, and placed in a 
litter belonging to a lady among the spectators, which had 
immediately transported him out of the press. Oswald, 
on receiving this intelligence, resolved to return to his 
master for farther instructions, carrying along with him 
Gurth, whom he considered in some sort as a deserter from 
the service of Cedric. 

The Saxon had been under very intense and agonizing 
apprehensions concerning his son; for Nature had asserted 
her rights, in spite of the patriotic stoicism which laboured 
to disown her. But no sooner was he informed that Ivan- 
hoe was in careful, and probably in friendly hands, than 
the paternal anxiety which had been excited by the 
dubiety 1 of his fate gave way anew to the feeling of 
injured pride and resentment at what he termed Wilfred’s 
filial disobedience. “ Let him wander his way,” said he — 
“ let those leech 2 his wounds for whose sake he encountered 
them. He is fitter to do the juggling tricks of the Norman 
chivalry than to maintain the fame and honour of his 
English ancestry with the glaive 3 and brown-bill, the 
good old weapons of his country.” 

“ If to maintain the honour of ancestry,” said Rowena, 
who was present, “ it is sufficient to be wise in council and 
brave in execution — to be boldest among the bold, and 
gentlest among the gentle, I know no voice, save his 
father’s ” 

“ Be silent, Lady Rowena! — on this subject only I hear 
you not. Prepare yourself for the Prince’s festival: we 
have been summoned thither with unwonted circumstance 
of honour and of courtesy, such as the haughty Normans 
have rarely used to our race since the fatal day of Hastings. 
Thither will I go, were it only to show these proud Nor- 
mans how little the fate of a son who could defeat their 
bravest can affect a Saxon.” 

1 Doubtfulness. 

2 Heal; as a physician or “leech.” 

3 A lance or spear; also, later, a broadsword. 


IVANIIOE 


197 


“ Thither,” said Rowena, “ do I not go; and I pray 
yon to beware, lest what you mean for courage and con- 
stancy shall be accounted hardness of heart.” 

“ Remain at home, then, ungrateful lady,” answered 
Cedric; “ thine is the hard heart, which can sacrifice the 
weal of an oppressed people to an idle and unauthorized 
attachment. I seek the noble Athelstane, and with him 
attend the banquet of John of Anjou.” 

He went accordingly to the banquet, of which we have 
already mentioned the principal events. Immediately 
upon retiring from the castle, the Saxon thanes, with their 
attendants, took horse; and it was during the bustle which 
attended their doing so that Cedric, for the first time, 
cast his eyes upon the deserter Gurth. The noble Saxon 
had returned from the banquet, as we have seen, in no 
very placid humour, and wanted hut a pretext for wreaking 
his anger upon some one. “ The gyves 1 ! ” he said, “ the 
gyves! — Oswald! — Hundibert! — dogs and villains! — why 
leave ye the knave unfettered? ” 

Without daring to remonstrate, the companions of Gurth 
bound him with a halter, as the readiest cord which oc- 
curred. He submitted to the operation without remon- 
strance, except that, darting a reproachful look at his 
master, he said, “ This comes of loving your flesh and blood 
better than mine own.” 

“ To horse, and forward! ” said Cedric. 

“ It is indeed full time,” said the noble Athelstane; “ for, 
if we ride not the faster, the worthy Abbot WaltheofTs 
preparations for a rere-supper * will be altogether spoiled.” 

The travellers, however, used such speed as to reach the 
convent of St. Withold’s before the apprehended evil took 
place. The Abbot, himself of ancient Saxon descent, 
received the noble Saxons with the profuse and exuberant 
hospitality of their nation, wherein they indulged to a late, 
or rather an early hour; nor did they take leave of their 
reverend host the* next morning until they had shared with 
him a sumptuous refection. 

As the cavalcade left the court of the monastery, an 


* A rere-supper was a night-meal, and sometimes signified a colla- 
tion, which was given at a late hour, after the regular supper had 
made its appearance.— L. T. [Scott.] 

1 Fetters. 


198 


IVANHOE 


incident happened somewhat alarming to the Saxons, who, 
of all people of Europe, were most addicted to a super- 
stitious observance of omens, and to whose opinions can 
be traced most of those notions upon such subjects, still 
to be found among our popular antiquities. For the Nor- 
mans, being a mixed race and better informed according to 
the information of the times, had lost most of the super- 
stitious prejudices which their ancestors had brought from 
Scandinavia, and piqued themselves upon thinking freely 
on such topics. 

In the present instance, the apprehension of impending 
evil was inspired by no less respectable a prophet than a 
large lean black dog, which, sitting upright, howled most 
piteously as the foremost riders left the gate, and presently 
afterwards, barking wildly, and jumping to and fro, seemed 
bent upon attaching itself to the party. 

“ I like not that music, father Cedric,” said Athelstane; 
for by this title of respect he was accustomed to address 
him. 

"Nor I either, uncle,” said Wamba; “I greatly fear we 
shall have to pay the piper.” 

" In my mind,” said Athelstane, upon whose memory 
the Abbot’s good ale (for Burton was already famous for 
that genial liquor) had made a favourable impression, — " in 
my mind we had better turn hack, and abide with the 
Abbot until the afternoon. It is unlucky to travel where 
your path is crossed by a monk, a hare, or a howling dog, 
until you have eaten your next meal.” 

"Away!” said Cedric, impatiently; "the day is already 
too short for our journey. For the dog, I know it to be 
the cur of the runaway slave Gurth, a useless fugitive like 
its master.” 

So saying, and rising at the same time in his stirrups, 
impatient at the interruption of his journey, he launched 
his javelin at poor Fangs — for Fangs it was, who, having 
traced his master thus far upon his stolen expedition, had 
here lost him, and was now, in his uncouth way, rejoicing 
at his reappearance. The javelin inflicted a wound upon 
the animal’s shoulder, and narrowly missed pinning him 
to the earth; and Fangs fled howling from the presence of 
the enraged thane. Gurth’s heart swelled within him; 
for he felt this meditated slaughter of his faithful adherent 


IVANHOE 


199 


in a degree much deeper than the harsh treatment he had 
himself received. Having in vain attempted to raise his 
hand to his eyes, he said to Wamba, who, seeing his master’s 
ill humour, had prudently retreated to the rear, “ I pray 
thee, do me the kindness to wipe my eyes with the skirt 
of thy mantle; the dust offends me, and these bonds will 
not let me help myself one way or another.” 

Wamba did him the service he required, and they rode 
side by side for some time, during which Gurth maintained 
a moody silence. At length he could repress his feelings 
no longer. 

“ Friend Wamba,” said he, “ of all those who are fools 
enough to serve Cedric, thou alone hast dexterity enough to 
make thy folly acceptable to him. Go to him, therefore, 
and tell him that neither for love nor fear will Gurth serve 
him longer. He may strike the head from me — he may 
scourge me — he may load me with irons — hut henceforth 
he shall never compel me either to love or to obey him. 
Go to him, then, and tell him that Gurth the son of 
Beowulph renounces his service.” 

“ Assuredly,” said Wamba, “ fool as I am, I shall not do 
your fool’s errand. Cedric hath another javelin stuck into 
his girdle, and thou knowest he does not always miss his 
mark.” 

“ I care not,” replied Gurth, “ how soon he makes a 
mark of me. Yesterday he left Wilfred, my young master, 
in his blood. To-day he has striven to kill before my face 
the only other living creature that ever showed me kind- 
ness. By St. Edmund , 1 St. Dunstan, St. Withold, St. 
Edward the Confessor , 2 and every other Saxon saint in the 
calendar,” (for Cedric never swore by any that was not 
of Saxon lineage, and all his household had the same 
limited devotion,) “ I will never forgive him! ” 

“ To my thinking now,” said the J ester, who was fre- 
quently wont to act as peace-maker in the family, “ our 
master did not propose to hurt Fangs, hut only to affright 
him. For, if you observed, he rose in his stirrups, as 
thereby meaning to overcast the mark; and so he would 
have done, hut Fangs happening to hound up at the very 

1 The King of East Anglia, martyred by the Danes in 870. 

5 King of the West Saxons (1042-1066), canonized in 1161 on 
account of his reputation for piety. 


200 


IVANHOE 


moment, received a scratch, which I will he bound to heal 
with a penny’s breadth of tar.” 

“ If I thought so,” said Gurth — “ if I could hut think 
so — but no — I saw the javelin was well aimed — I heard it 
whizz through the air with all the wrathful malevolence 
of him who cast it, and it quivered after it had pitched in 
the ground, as if with regret for having missed its mark. 
By the hog dear to St. Anthony , 1 I renounce him! ” 

And the indignant swineherd resumed his sullen silence, 
which no efforts of the Jester could again induce him to 
break. 

Meanwhile Cedric and Athelstane, the leaders of the 
troop, conversed together on the state of the land, on the 
dissensions of the royal family, on the feuds and quarrels 
among the Norman nobles, and on the chance which there 
was that the oppressed Saxons might be able to free them- 
selves from the yoke of the Normans, or at least to elevate 
themselves into national consequence and independence, 
during the civil convulsions which were likely to ensue. 
On this subject Cedric was all animation. The restoration 
of the independence of his race was the idol of his heart, 
to which he had willingly sacrificed domestic happiness and 
the interests of his own son. But, in order to achieve this 
great revolution in favour of the native English, it was 
necessary that they should be united among themselves, 
and act under an acknowledged head. The necessity of 
choosing their chief from the Saxon blood-royal was not 
only evident in itself, but had been made a solemn con- 
dition by those whom Cedric had intrusted with his secret 
plans and hopes. Athelstane had this quality at least; and 
though he had few mental accomplishments or talents to 
recommend him as a leader, he had still a goodly person, 
was no coward, had been accustomed to martial exercises, 
and seemed willing to defer to the advice of counsellors 
more wise than himself. Above all, he was known to be 
liberal and hospitable, and believed to be good-natured. 
But whatever pretensions Athelstane had to be considered 
as head of the Saxon confederacy , 2 many of that nation 
were disposed to prefer to his the title of the Lady Rowena, 
who drew her descent from Alfred, and whose father hav- 

1 Pigs were supposed to be under the especial care of St. Anthony. 

2 The “ confederacy ” is a fiction of Scott’s imagination. 


IV AN HOE 


201 


ing been a chief renowned for wisdom, courage, and gen- 
erosity, his memory was highly honoured by his oppressed 
countrymen. 

It would have been no difficult thing for Cedric, had he 
been so disposed, to have placed himself at the head of a 
third party, as formidable at least as any of the others. To 
counterbalance their royal descent, he had courage, activity, 
energy, and, above all, that devoted attachment to the cause 
which had procured him the epithet of The Saxon, and 
his birth was inferior to none, excepting only that of 
Athelstane and his ward. These qualities, however, were 
unalloyed by the slightest shade of selfishness; and, instead 
of dividing yet farther his weakened nation by forming 
a faction of his own, it was a leading part of Cedric’s plan 
to extinguish that which already existed, by promoting a 
marriage betwixt Rowena and Athelstane. An obstacle 
occurred to this his favourite project, in the mutual at- 
tachment of his ward and his son, and hence the original 
cause of the banishment of Wilfred from the house of his 
father. 

This stern measure Cedric had adopted, in hopes that, 
during Wilfred’s absence, Rowena might relinquish her 
preference, but in this hope he was disappointed; a dis- 
appointment which might be attributed in part to the 
mode in which his ward had been educated. Cedric, to 
whom the name of Alfred was as that of a deity, had 
treated the sole remaining scion of that great monarch with 
a degree of observance such as, perhaps, was in those days 
scarce paid to an acknowledged princess. Rowena’s will 
had been in almost all cases a law to his household; and 
Cedric himself, as if determined that her sovereignty should 
be fully acknowledged within that little circle at least, 
seemed to take a pride in acting as the first of her subjects. 
Thus trained in the exercise not only of free will, but 
despotic authority, Rowena was, by her previous education, 
disposed both to resist and to resent any attempt to control 
her affections, or dispose of her hand contrary to her in- 
clinations, and to assert her independence in a case in which 
even those females who have been trained up to obedience 
and subjection are not infrequently apt to dispute the 
authority of guardians and parents. The opinions which 
she felt strongly, she avowed boldly; and Cedric, who could 


202 


IV AN HOE 


not free liimself from his habitual deference to her opin- 
ions, felt totally at a loss how to enforce his authority of 
guardian. 

It was in vain that he attempted to dazzle her with the 
prospect of a visionary throne. Rowena, who possessed 
strong sense, neither considered his plan as practicable, 
nor as desirable so far as she was concerned, could it have 
been achieved. Without attempting to conceal her avowed 
preference of Wilfred of Ivanhoe, she declared that, were 
that favoured knight out of question, she would rather 
take refuge in a convent than share a throne with Athel- 
stane, whom, having always despised, she now began, on 
account of the trouble she received on his account, thor- 
oughly to detest. 

Nevertheless, Cedric, whose opinions of women’s con- 
stancy was far from strong, persisted in using every means 
in his power to bring about the proposed match, in which 
he conceived he was rendering an important service to the 
Saxon cause. The sudden and romantic appearance of his 
son in the lists at Ashby, he had justly regarded as almost 
a death’s blow to his hopes. His paternal affection, it is 
true, had for an instant gained the victory over pride and 
patriotism; but both had returned in full force, and under 
their joint operation he was now bent upon making a 
determined effort for the union of Athelstane and Rowena, 
together with expediting those other measures which 
seemed necessary to forward the restoration of Saxon inde- 
pendence. 

On this last subject he was now labouring with Athel- 
stane, not without having reason, every now and then, to 
lament, like Hotspur, that he should have moved such a 
dish of skimmed milk to so honourable an action . 1 Athel- 
stane, it is true, was vain enough, and loved to have his 
ears tickled with tales of his high descent and of his right 
by inheritance to homage and sovereignty. But his petty 
vanity was sufficiently gratified by receiving this homage 
at the hands of his immediate attendants, and of the Saxons 
who approached him. If he had the courage to encounter 
danger, he at least hated the trouble of going to seek it; 
and while he agreed in the general principles laid down 
by Cedric concerning the claim of the Saxons to indepen- 

1 1 Henry IV, ii, 3, 36. 


IVANHOE 


203 


deuce, and was still more easily convinced of his own title 
to reign over them when that independence should be 
attained, yet when the means of asserting these rights came 
to be discussed, he was still “Athelstane the Unready,” 
slow, irresolute, procrastinating, and unenterprising. The 
warm and impassioned exhortations of Cedric had as little 
effect upon his impassive temper as red-hot balls alighting 
in the water, which produce a little sound and smoke, and 
are instantly extinguished. 

If, leaving this task, which might be compared to spur- 
ring a tired jade, or to hammering upon cold iron, Cedric 
fell back to his ward Rowena, he received little more satis- 
faction from conferring with her. For, as his presence in- 
terrupted the discourse between the lady and her favourite 
attendant upon the gallantry and fate of Wilfred, Elgitha 
failed not to revenge both her mistress and herself, by 
recurring to the overthrow of Athelstane in the lists, the 
most disagreeable subject which could greet the ears of 
Cedric. To this sturdy Saxon, therefore, the day’s journey 
was fraught with all manner of displeasure and discomfort; 
so that he more than once internally cursed the tourna- 
ment, and him who had proclaimed it, together with his 
own folly in ever thinking of going thither. 

At noon, upon the motion of Athelstane, the travellers 
paused in a woodland shade by a fountain, to repose their 
horses and partake of some provisions, with which the 
hospitable Abbot had loaded a sumpter-mule. Their 
repast was a pretty long one; and these several interruptions 
rendered it impossible for them to hope to reach Rother- 
wood without travelling all night, a conviction which in- 
duced them to proceed on their way at a more hasty pace 
than they had hitherto used. 

[Does the language put into Gurth’s mouth seem to you invariably 
in keeping with the character? Notice the relatively slight interest, 
whether of plot or characterization, that this chapter affords, and 
then see how the interest is heightened, from point to point, during 
the next two chapters.] 


CHAPTER XIX 


A train of armed men, some noble dame 
Escorting, (so their scatter’d words discover’d, 

As unperceived I hung upon their rear,) 

Are close at hand, and mean to pass the night 
Within the castle. 

Orrci, a Tragedy. 

The travellers had now reached the verge of the wooded 
country, and were about to plunge into its recesses, held 
dangerous at that time from the number of outlaws whom 
oppression and poverty had driven to despair, and who 
occupied the forests in such large hands as could easily 
bid defiance to the feeble police of the period. From these 
rovers, however, notwithstanding the lateness of the hour, 
Cedric and Athelstane accounted themselves secure, as 
they had in attendance ten servants, besides Wamba and 
Gurth, whose aid could not be counted upon, the one being 
a jester and the other a captive. It may be added that, in 
travelling thus late through the forest, Cedric and Athel- 
stane relied on their descent and character, as well as their 
courage. The outlaws, whom the severity of the forest 
laws had reduced to this roving and desperate mode of life, 
were chiefly peasants and yeomen of Saxon descent, and 
were generally supposed to respect the persons and property 
of their countrymen. 

As the travellers journeyed on their way, they were 
alarmed by repeated cries for assistance; and when they 
rode up to the place from whence they came, they were 
surprised to find' a horse-litter 1 placed upon the ground, 
beside which sat a young woman, richly dressed in the 
Jewish fashion, while an old man, whose yellow cap pro- 
claimed him to belong to the same nation, walked up and 
down with gestures expressive of the deepest despair, and 
wrung his hands as if affected by some strange disaster. 

1 A kind of palanquin hung on poles between two horses. 


IV AN IIOE 


205 


To the enquiries of Athelstane and Cedric, the old Jew 
could for some time only answer by invoking the protec- 
tion of all the patriarchs of the Old Testament succes- 
sively against the sons of Ishmael 1 who were coming to 
smite them, hip and thigh, with the edge cf the sword. 
When he began to come to himself out of this agony of 
terror, Isaac of York (for it was our old friend) was at 
length able to explain that he had hired a body-guard of 
six men at Ashby, together with mules for carrying the litter 
of a sick friend. This party had undertaken to escort him 
as far as Doncaster. They had come thus far in safety; 
but having received information from a wood-cutter that 
there was a strong hand of outlaws lying in wait in the 
woods before them, Isaac’s mercenaries had not only taken 
flight, hut had carried off with them the horses which 
bore the litter, and left the Jew and his daughter without 
the means either of defence or of retreat, to he plundered, 
and probably murdered, by the banditti, who they expected 
every moment would bring down upon them. “ Would 
it but please your valours,” added Isaac, in a tone of deep 
humiliation, “ to permit the poor Jews to travel under 
your safeguard, I swear, by the tables of our law , 1 that 
never has favour been conferred upon a child of Israel 
since the days of our captivity, which shall be more grate- 
fully acknowledged.” 

“ Dog of a Jew!” said Athelstane, whose memory was 
of that petty kind which stores up trifles of all kinds, but 
particularly trifling offences, “ dost not remember how 
thou didst heard us in the gallery at the tilt-yard? Fight 
or flee, or compound with the outlaws as thou dost list, 
ask neither aid nor company from us; and if they rob only 
such as thee, who rob all the world, I, for mine own share, 
shall hold them right honest folk.” 

Cedric did not assent to the severe proposal of his com- 
panion. “ We shall do better,” said he, “ to leave them 
two of our attendants and two horses to convey them back 
to the next village. It will diminish our strength hut little; 
and with your good sword, noble Athelstane, and the aid 
of those who remain, it will he light work for us to face 
twenty of those runagates.” 

1 The son of Abraham and Hagar, and the ancestor, traditionally, 
of the Arab tribes. 


206 


1VAN1IOE 


Rowena, somewhat alarmed by the mention of outlaws 
in force, and so near them, strongly seconded the proposal 
of her guardian. But Rebecca, suddenly quitting her 
dejected posture, and making her way through the attend- 
ants to the palfrey of the Saxon lady, knelt down, and, 
after the Oriental fashion in addressing superiors, kissed 
the hem of Rowena’s garment. Then rising, and throwing 
back her veil, she implored her in the great name of the 
God whom they both worshipped, and by that revelation 
of the Law upon Mount Sinai 1 in which they both believed, 
that she would have compassion upon them, and suffer 
them to go forward under their safeguard. “ It is not 
for myself that I pray this favour,” said Rebecca; “ nor is 
it even for that poor old man. I know that to wrong and 
to spoil our nation is a light fault, if not a merit, with the 
Christians; and what is it to us whether it be done in the 
city, in the desert, or in the field? But it is in the name 
of one dear to many, and dear even to you, that I beseech 
you to let this sick person be transported with care and 
tenderness under your protection. For, if evil chance him, 
the last moment of your life would be embittered wdth 
regret for denying that which I ask of you.” 

The noble and solemn air with which Rebecca made 
this appeal gave it double weight with the fair Saxon. 

“ The man is old and feeble,” she said to her guardian, 
“ the maiden young and beautiful, their friend sick and 
in peril of his life — Jews though they be, we cannot as 
Christians leave them in this extremity. Let them 
unload two of the sumpter-mules, and put the baggage 
behind two of the serfs. The mules may transport the 
litter, and we have led horses for the old man and his 
daughter.” 

Cedric readily assented to what she proposed, and Athel- 
stane only added the condition, “ that they should travel 
in the rear of the whole party, where Wamba,” he said, 
“ might attend them with his shield of boar’s brawn.” 

“ I have left my shield in the tilt-yard,” answered the 
J ester, “ as has been the fate of many a better knight than 
myself.” 

Athelstane coloured deeply, for such had been his own 
fate on the last day of the tournament; while Rowena, who 

1 The law of Moses. 


IVANHOE 


207 


was pleased in the same proportion, as if to make amends 
for the brutal jest of her unfeeling suitor, requested 
Rebecca to ride by her side. 

“ It were not fit I should do so,” answered Rebecca, with 
proud humility, “ where my society might be held a dis- 
grace to my protectress.” 

By this time the change of baggage was hastily achieved; 
for the single word “ outlaws ” rendered every one suffi- 
ciently alert, and the approach of twilight made the sound 
yet more impressive. Amid the bustle, Gurth was taken 
from horseback, in the course of which removal he pre- 
vailed upon the Jester to slack the cord with which his 
arms were bound. It was so negligently refastened, per- 
haps intentionally, on the part of Wamba,that Gurth found 
no difficulty in freeing his arms altogether from bondage, 
and then, gliding into the thicket, he made his escape from 
the party. 

The bustle had been considerable, and it was some time 
before Gurth was missed; for, as he was to be placed 
for the rest of the journey behind a servant, every one 
supposed that some other of his companions had him under 
his custody, and when it began to be whispered among them 
that Gurth had actually disappeared, they were under such 
immediate expectation of an attack from the outlaws that 
it was not held convenient to pay much attention to the 
circumstance. 

The path upon which the party travelled was now so nar- 
row as not to admit, 'with any sort of convenience, above two 
riders abreast, and began to descend into a dingle , 1 trav- 
ersed by a brook whose banks were broken, swampy, and 
overgrown with dwarf willows. Cedric and Athelstane, 
who were at the head of their retinue, saw the risk of 
being attacked at this pass; but neither of them having 
had much practice in war, no better mode of preventing 
the danger occurred to them than that they should hasten 
through the defile as fast as possible. Advancing, there- 
fore, without much order, they had just crossed the brook 
with a part of their followers, when they were assailed in 
front, flank, and rear at once, with an impetuosity to which, 
in their confused and ill-prepared condition, it was impos- 
sible to offer effectual resistance. The shout of “ A white 

1 A wooded hollow. 


208 


IVANHOE 


dragon 1 ! — a white dragon! — Saint George 1 for merry 
England!” war-cries adopted by the assailants, as belonging 
to their assumed character of Saxon outlaws, was heard 
on every side, and on every side enemies appeared with a 
rapidity of advance and attack which seemed to multiply 
their numbers. 

Both the Saxon chiefs were made prisoners at the same 
moment, and each under circumstances expressive of his 
character. Cedric, the instant that an enemy appeared, 
launched at him his remaining javelin, which, taking better 
effect than that which he had hurled at Fangs, nailed the 
man against an oak-tree that happened to be close behind 
him. Thus far successful, Cedric spurred his horse against 
a second, drawing his sword at the same time, and striking 
with such inconsiderate fury that his weapon encountered 
a thick branch which hung over him, and he was disarmed 
by the violence of his own blow. He was instantly made 
prisoner, and pulled from his horse by two or three of the 
banditti who crowded around him. Athelstane shared 
his captivity, his bridle having been seized, and he himself 
forcibly dismounted, long before he could draw his weapon, 
or assume any posture of effectual defence. 

The attendants, embarrassed with baggage, surprised and 
terrified at the fate of their masters, fell an easy prey to 
the assailants; while the Lady Rowena, in the centre of the 
cavalcade, and the Jew and his daughter in the rear, ex- 
perienced the same misfortune. 

Of all the train, none escaped except Wamba, who 
showed upon the occasion much more courage than those 
who pretended to greater sense. He possessed himself of 
a sword belonging to one of the domestics, who was just 
drawing it with a tardy and irresolute hand, laid it about • 
him like a lion, drove back several who approached him, 
and made a brave though ineffectual attempt to succour 
his master. Finding himself overpowered, the Jester at 

1 St. George was the great Christian hero of the Middle Ages, and 
(after the time of Edward III, however) the patron saint of England. 
He is said to have been a native of Cappadocia, and to have suffered 
martyrdom in 300 a.d. Richard the Lion-Hearted is known to have 
used his name as a war-cry during the Crusades. The most notable 
legend connected with St. George is thatof his conquest of the dragon 
(the devil) and deliverance from it of the king’s daughter Sabra (the 
Churcp). 


IVANHOE 


209 


length threw himself from his horse, plunged into the 
thicket, and, favoured by the general confusion, escaped 
from the scene of action. 

Yet the valiant Jester, as soon as he found himself safe, 
hesitated more than once whether he should not turn hack 
and share the captivity of a master to whom he was sin- 
cerely attached. 

“ I have heard men talk of the blessings of freedom,” 
he said to himself, “ but I wish any wise man would teach 
me what use to make of it now that I have it.” 

As he pronounced these words aloud, a voice very near 
him called out in a low and cautious tone, “ Wamba! ” and, 
at the same time, a dog, which he recognised to be Fangs, 
jumped up and fawned upon him. “ Gurth! ” answered 
Wamba, with the same caution, and the swineherd immedi- 
ately stood before him. 

“ What is the matter?” said he eagerly; “what mean 
these cries, and that clashing of swords? ” 

“ Only a trick of the times,” said Wamba; “ they are all 
prisoners.” 

“ Who are prisoners? ” exclaimed Gurth, impatiently. 

“ My lord and my lady, and Athelstane, and Hundibert, 
and Oswald.” 

“In the name of God!” said Gurth, “how came they 
prisoners ? — and to whom ? ” 

“ Our master was too ready to fight,” said the Jester; 
“ and Athelstane was not ready enough, and no other per- 
son was ready at all. And they are prisoners to green 
cassocks 1 and black visors . 1 And they lie all tumbled 
about on the green, like the crab-apples that you shake 
down to your swine. And I would laugh at it,” said the 
honest Jester, “if I could for weeping.” And he shed 
tears of unfeigned sorrow. 

GurtUs countenance kindled — “Wamba,” he said, “thou 
hast a weapon, and thy heart was ever stronger than thy 
brain, — we are only two — but a sudden attack from men 
of resolution will do much — follow me! ” 

“ Whither? — and for what purpose? ” said the Jester. 

“ To rescue Cedric.” 

“ But you have renounced his service but now,” said- 
Wamba. 

1 The green coats and black masks of the robbers. 

14 


210 


I VAN HOE 


“ That/’ said Gurth, “ was but while he was fortunate — 
follow me! ” 

As the Jester was about to obey, a third person suddenly 
made his appearance, and commanded them both to halt. 
From his dress and arms, Wamba would have conjectured 
him to be one of those outlaws who had just assailed his 
master; but, besides that he wore no mask, the glittering 
baldric across his shoulder, with the rich bugle-horn which 
it supported, as well as the calm and commanding expres- 
sion of his voice and manner, made him, notwithstanding 
the twilight, recognise Locksley the yeoman, who had been 
victorious, under such disadvantageous circumstances, in 
the contest for the prize of archery. 

“ What is the meaning of all this,” said he, “ or who is 
it that rifle, and ransom, and make prisoners, in these 
forests? ” 

“ You may look at their cassocks close by,” said Wamba, 
“ and see whether they be thy children’s coats or no — for 
they are as like thine own as one green pea-cod is to 
another.” 

“ I will learn that presently,” answered Locksley; “ and 
I charge ye, on peril of your lives, not to stir from the place 
where ye stand, until I have returned. Obey me, and it 
shall be the better for you and your masters. — Yet stay, I 
must render myself as like these men as possible.” 

So saying, he unbuckled his baldric with the bugle, took 
a feather from his cap, and gave them to Wamba; then 
drew a vizard 1 from his pouch, and, repeating his charges 
to them to stand fast, went to execute his purposes of 
reconnoitring. 

“ Shall we stand fast, Gurth? ” said Wamba; “or shall 
we e’en give him leg-bail? In my foolish mind, he had 
all the equipage of a thief too much in readiness, to be 
himself a true man.” 

“Let him be the devil,” said Gurth, “an he will. We 
can be no worse of waiting his return. If he belong to 
that party, he must already have given them the alarm, 
and it will avail nothing either to fight or fly. Besides, I 
have late experience that arrant 2 thieves are not the worst 
men in the world to have to deal with.” 

1 Mask ; visor. 

3 Here used in the sense of errant , wandering. 


IV AN HOE 


211 


The yeoman returned in the course of a few minutes. 

“Friend Gurth,” he said, “I have mingled among yon 
men, and have learnt to whom they belong, and whither 
they are bound. There is, I think, no chance that they 
will proceed to any actual violence against their prisoners. 
For three men to attempt them at this moment were little 
else than madness; for they are good men of war, and have, 
as such, placed sentinels to give the alarm when any one 
approaches. But I trust soon to gather such a force as 
may act in defiance of all their precautions; you are both 
servants, and, as I think, faithful servants, of Cedric the 
Saxon, the friend of the rights of Englishmen. He shall 
not want English hands to help him in this extremity. 
Come then with me, until I gather more aid.” 

So saying, he walked through the wood at a great pace, 
followed by the jester and the swineherd. It was not con- 
sistent w r ith Wamba’s humour to travel long in silence. 

“ I think,” said he, looking at the baldric and bugle 
which he still carried, “ that I saw the arrow shot which 
won this gay prize, and that not so long since as Christ- 
mas.” 

“ And I,” said Gurth, “ could take it on my halidome, 
that I have heard the voice of the good yeoman who won 
it, by night as well as by day, and that the moon is not 
three days older since I did so.” 

“ Mine honest friends,” replied the yeoman, “ who, or 
what I am, is little to the present purpose; should I free 
your master, you will have reason to think me the best 
friend you have ever had in your lives. And whether I am 
known by one name or another — or whether I can draw a 
bow as well or better than a cow-keeper , 1 or whether it is 
my pleasure to walk in sunshine or by moonlight, are 
matters which, as they do not concern you, so neither 
need ye busy yourselves respecting them.” 

“ Our heads are in the lion’s mouth,” said Wamba, in a 
whisper to Gurth, “ get them out how we can.” 

“ Hush — be silent,” said Gurth. “ Offend him not by 
thy folly, and I trust sincerely that all will go well.” 

1 Crow-keeper? Compare King Lear , iv, 6, 88. 

[Note the ease and precision of the character-drawing here, and the 
rapidity of the forward movement of the story.] 


CHAPTER XX 


When autumn nights were long and drear, 

And forest walks were dark and dim, 

How sweetly on the pilgrim’s ear 

Was wont to steal the hermit’s hymn ! 

Devotion borrows Music’s tone, 

And Music took Devotion’s wing ; 

And, like the bird that hails the sun, 

They soar to heaven, and soaring sing. 

The Hermit of St. Clement's Well. 

It was after three hours’ good walking that the servants 
of Cedric, with their mysterious guide, arrived at a small 
oldening in the forest, in the centre of which grew an oak- 
tree of enormous magnitude, throwing its twisted branches 
in every direction. Beneath this tree four or five yeomen 
lay stretched on the ground, while another, as sentinel, 
walked to and fro in the moonlight shade. 

ITpon hearing the sound of feet approaching, the watch 
instantly gave the alarm, and the sleepers as suddenly 
started up and bent their bows. Six arrows placed on the 
string were pointed towards the quarter from which the 
travellers approached, when their guide, being recognised, 
was welcomed with every token of respect and attachment, 
and all signs and fears of a rough reception at once sub- 
sided. 

“ Where is the Miller? ” was his first question. 

“ On the road towards Rotherham.” 

“ With how many?” demanded the leader, for such he 
seemed to be. 

“ With six men, and good hope of booty, if it please St. 
Nicholas.” 

“ Devoutly spoken,” said Locksley; “ and where is Allan- 
a-Dale? ” 

“ Walked up towards the Watling-street , 1 to watch for 
the Prior of Jorvaulx.” 

1 A great Roman road running across England from Dover, through 
London, to Chester. 


IVANHOE 


213 


“ That is well thought on also/’ replied the Captain; — 
“ and where is the Friar? ” 

“ In his cell.” 

“ Thither will I go,” said Locksley. “ Disperse and seek 
your companions. Collect what force you can, for there’s 
game afoot that must be hunted hard, and will turn to bay. 
Meet me here by daybreak. — And stay,” he added, “ I have 
forgotten what is most necessary of the whole. Two of you 
take the road quickly towards Torquilstone, the Castle of 
Front-de-Boeuf. A set of gallants, who have been mas- 
querading in such guise as our own, are carrying a hand of 
prisoners thither. Watch them closely, for even if they 
reach the castle before we collect our force, our honour is 
concerned to punish them, and we will find means to do so. 
Keep a close watch on them therefore; and dispatch one 
of your comrades, the lightest of foot, to bring the news 
of the yeomen thereabout.” 

They promised implicit obedience, and departed with 
alacrity on their different errands. In the meanwhile, 
their leader and his two companions, who now looked upon 
him with great respect, as well as some fear, pursued their 
way to the Chapel of Copmanhurst. 

When they had reached the little moonlight glade, hav- 
ing in front the reverend, though ruinous chapel, and the 
rude hermitage, so well suited to ascetic devotion, Wamba 
whispered to Gurth, “ If this be the habitation of a thief, 
it makes good the old proverb. The nearer the church the 
farther from God. — And by my cockscomb,” 1 he added, 
“ I think it be even so — hearken but to the black sanctus 2 
which they are singing in the hermitage! ” 

In fact, the anchorite and his guest were performing, at 
the full extent of their powerful lungs, an old drinking 
song, of which this was the burden: — 

“ Come, trowl 3 the brown bowl to me, 

Bully boy, bully boy, 

Come, trowl the brown bowl to me : 

Ho ! jolly Jenkin, I spy a knave in drinking, 

Come, trowl the brown bowl to me.” 

1 A jester’s cap was called a cockscomb because of the notched piece 
of red cloth worn in it. See Lear , i, 4, 105, etc. 

2 A sanctus was the musical setting of the words “Holy, Holy, 

Holy, Lord God of Hosts” ; a “ black sanctus” was a profane or bur- 
lesque hymn. 3 Pass around. 


214 


IVANIIOE 


“ Now, that is not ill sung,” said Wamba, who had 
thrown in a few of his own flourishes to help out the 
chorus. “ But who, in the saint’s name, ever expected to 
have heard such a jolly chant come from out a hermit’s 
cell at midnight! ” 

“ Marry, that should I,” said Gurth, “ for the jolly Clerk 
of Copmanhurst is a known man, and kills half the deer 
that are stolen in this walk. Men say that the keeper has 
complained to his official, and that he will he stripped of 
his cowl and cope altogether, if he keeps not better order.” 

While they were thus speaking, Locksley’s loud and re- 
peated knocks had at length disturbed the anchorite and 
liis guest. “ By my heads,” said the hermit, stopping short 
in a grand flourish, “ here comes more benighted guests. I 
would not for my cowl that they found us in this goodly 
exercise. All men have their enemies, good Sir Sluggard; 
and there he those malignant enough to construe the hos- 
pitable refreshment which I have been offering to you, a 
weary traveller, for the matter of three short hours, into 
sheer drunkenness and debauchery, vices alike alien to my 
profession and my disposition.” 

“ Base calumniators!” replied the knight; “I would I 
had the chastising of them. Nevertheless, Holy Clerk, it 
is true that all have their enemies; and there be those in 
this very land whom I would rather speak to through the 
bars of my helmet than barefaced.” 

“ Get thine iron pot on thy head then, friend Sluggard, 
as quickly as thy nature will permit,” said the hermit, 
“ while I remove these pewter flagons, whose late contents 
run strangely in mine own pate; and to drown the clatter — 
for, in faith, I feel somewhat unsteady — strike into the 
tune which thou hearest me sing; it is no matter for the 
words — I scarce know them myself.” 

So saying, he struck up a thundering De profundis 
clamavi, 1 under cover of which he removed the apparatus 
of their banquet; while the knight, laughing heartily, and 
arming himself all the while, assisted his host with his voice 
from time to time as his mirth permitted. 

“ What devil’s matins are you after at this hour? ” said 
a voice from without. 

“ Heaven forgive you, Sir Traveller! ” said the hermit, 
1 “ Out of the depths have I cried.” Psalms cxxx. 1. 


IVANIlOE 


215 


whose own noise, and perhaps his nocturnal potations, pre- 
vented from recognising accents which were tolerably 
familiar to him; " wend on your way, in the name of God 
and Saint Dunstan, and disturb not the devotions of me 
and my holy brother/’ 

“ Mad priest,” answered the voice from without, " open 
to Locksley! ” 

" All’s safe — all’s right,” said the hermit to his com- 
panion. 

“ But who is he? ” said the Black Knight; "it imports 
me much to know.” 

"Who is he?” answered the hermit; "I tell thee he is 
a friend.” 

" But what friend? ” answered the knight; " for he may 
be friend to thee and none of mine? ” 

"What friend?” replied the hermit; "that, now, is one 
of the questions that is more easily asked than answered. 
What friend? — why, he is, now that I bethink me a little, 
the very same honest keeper I told thee of a while since.” 

" Ay, as honest a keeper as thou art a pious hermit,” 
replied the knight, " I doubt it not. But undo the door 
to him before he beat it from its hinges.” 

The dogs, in the meantime, which had made a dreadful 
baying at the commencement of the disturbance, seemed 
now to recognise the voice of him who stood without; for, 
totally changing their manner, they scratched and whined 
at the door, as if interceding for his admission. The her- 
mit speedily unbolted his portal, and admitted Locksley, 
with his two companions. 

" Why, hermit,” was the yeoman’s first question as soon 
as he beheld the knight, " what boon companion hast thou 
here? ” 

" A brother of our order,” replied the friar, shaking his 
head; " we have been at our orisons all night.” 

" He is a monk of the church militant , 1 I think,” 
answered Locksley; " and there be more of them abroad. 
I tell thee, friar, thou must lay down the rosary and take 
up the quarter-staff; we shall need every one of our merry 
men, whether clerk or layman. — But,” he added, taking 
him a step aside, "art thou mad? to give admittance to a 

1 A term applied to the church on earth, as engaged in warfare ; 
in distinction from the church triumphant in heaven. 


216 


1VANJI0E 


knight thou dost not know? Hast thou forgot our 
articles? ” 

“Hot know him! ” replied the friar, boldly, “I know 
him as well as the beggar knows his dish.” 

“ And what is his name, then ? ” demanded Locksley. 

“ His name,” said the hermit — “ his name is Sir Anthony 
•of Scrabelstone — as if I would drink with a man, and did 
not know his name! ” 

“ Thou hast been drinking more than enough, friar,” 
said the woodsman, “ and, I fear, prating more than 
enough too.” 

“ Good yeoman,” said the knight, coming forward, “ be 
not wroth with my merry host. He did but afford me the 
hospitality which I would have compelled from him if he 
had refused it.” 

“Thou compel!” said the friar; “wait but till I have 
changed this grey gown for a green cassock, and if I make 
not a quarter-staff ring twelve upon thy ]3ate, I am neither 
true clerk nor good woodsman.” 

While he spoke thus, he stript off his gown, and appeared 
in a close black buckram doublet and drawers, over which 
he speedily did on a cassock of green, and hose of the same 
colour. “ I pray thee truss my points,” 1 said he toWamba, 
“ and thou shalt have a cup of sack 2 for thy labour.” 

“ Gramercy for thy sack,” said Wamba; “but think’st 
thou it is lawful for me to aid you to transmew 3 thyself 
from a holy hermit into a sinful forester? ” 

“Never fear,” said the hermit; “I will but confess the 
sins of my green cloak to my greyfriar’s frock, and all shall 
be well again.” 

“Amen!” answered the Jester; “a broadcloth penitent 
should have a sackcloth confessor, and your frock may ab- 
solve my motley doublet into the bargain.” 

So saying, he accommodated the friar with his assistance 
in tying the endless number of points, as the laces which 
attached the hose to the doublet were then termed. 

While they were thus employed, Locksley led the knight 
a little apart, and addressed him thus: — “ Deny it not, 
Sir Knight — you are he who decided the victory to the 

1 Fasten the laces which were formerly used in place of buttons. 

2 A Spanish wine. 

3 Transmute. 


IV AN ROE 


217 


advantage of the English against the strangers on the 
second day of the tournament at Ashby.” 

“ And what follows if you guess truly, good yeoman?” 
replied the knight. 

“ I should in that case hold you,” replied the yeoman, 
“ a friend to the weaker party.” 

“ Such is the duty of a true knight at least,” replied 
the Black Champion; “ and I would not willingly that there 
were reason to think otherwise of me.” 

“ But for my purpose,” said the yeoman, “ thou sliouldst 
he as well a good Englishman as a good knight; for that 
which I have to speak of concerns, indeed, the duty of 
every honest man, but is more especially that of a true- 
born native of England.” 

“You can speak to no one,” replied the knight, “to 
whom England, and the life of every Englishman, can he 
dearer than to me.” 

“ I would willingly believe so,” said the woodsman, “ for 
never had this country such need to be supported by those 
who love her. Hear me, and I will tell thee of an enter- 
prise in which, if thou be’st really that which thou 
seemest, thou mayst take an honourable part. A band of 
villains, in the disguise of better men than themselves, 
have made themselves master of the person of a noble Eng- 
lishman, called Cedric the Saxon, together with his ward, 
and his friend Athelstane of Coningsburgh, and have 
transported them to a castle in this forest, called Torquil- 
stone. I ask of thee, as a good knight and a good English- 
man, wilt thou aid in their rescue? ” 

“ I am bound by my vow to do so,” replied the knight; 
“ but I would willingly know who you are, who request 
my assistance in their behalf? ” 

“I am,” said the forester, “a nameless man; but I am 
the friend of my country, and of my country’s friends. 
With this account of me you must for the present remain 
satisfied, the more especially since you yourself desire to 
continue unknown. Believe, however, that my word, when 
pledged, is as inviolate as if I wore golden spurs.” 

“ I willingly believe it,” said the knight; “ I have been 
accustomed to study men’s countenances, and I can read 
in thine honesty and resolution. I will, therefore, ask thee 
no further questions, but aid thee in setting at freedom 


218 


IV AN HOE 


these oppressed captives; which done, I trust we shall part 
better acquainted, and well satisfied with each other / 7 

“ So , 77 said Wamba to Gurth, — for the friar being now 
fully equipped, the Jester, having approached to the other 
side of the hut, had heard the conclusion of the conversa- 
tion , — “ so we have got a new ally? — I trust the valour of 
the knight will be truer metal than the religion of the 
hermit, or the honesty of the yeoman; for this Locksley 
looks like a born deer-stealer, and the priest like a lusty 
hypocrite . 77 

“ Hold thy peace, Wamba , 77 said Gurth; “ it may all be 
as thou dost guess; but were the horned devil to rise and 
proffer me his assistance to set at liberty Cedric and the 
Lady Rowena, I fear I should hardly have religion enough 
to refuse the foul fiend’s offer, and bid him get behind me . 77 

The friar was now completely accoutred as a yeoman, 
with sword and buckler, bow and quiver, and a strong 
partisan 1 over his shoulder. He left his cell at the head 
of the party, and, having carefully locked the door, de- 
posited the key under the threshold. 

“ Art thou in condition to do good service, friar , 77 said 
Locksley, “ or does the brown bowl still run in thy head? 77 

“ Hot more than a draught of St. Dunstan’s fountain 
will allay , 77 answered the priest; “ something there is of a 
whizzing in my brain, and of instability in my legs, but 
you shall presently see both pass away . 77 

So saying, he stepped to the stone basin, in which the 
waters of the fountain as they fell formed bubbles which 
danced in the white moonlight, and took so long a draught 
as if he had meant to exhaust the spring. 

“ When didst thou drink as deep a draught of water 
before, Holy Clerk of Copmanhurst ? 77 said the Black 
Knight. 

“ Never since my wine-butt leaked, and let out its 
liquor by an illegal vent , 77 replied the friar, “ and so left 
me nothing to drink but my patron’s bounty here . 77 

Then plunging his hands and head into the fountain, 
he washed from them all marks of the midnight revel. 

Thus refreshed and sobered, the jolly priest twirled his 
heavy partisan round his head with three fingers, as if he 
had been balancing a reed, exclaiming at the same time, 
1 A long-handled cutting weapon, similar to a halberd. 


IV AN HOE 


219 


“ Where be those false ravishers, who carry off wenches 
against their will? May the foul fiend fly off with me, if 
1 am not man enough for a dozen of them.” 

“ Swearest thou, Holy Clerk? ” said the Black Knight. 

“ Clerk me no Clerks,” replied the transformed priest; 
“ by Saint George and the Dragon, I am no longer a shave- 
ling 1 than while my frock is on my back. When I am cased 
in my green cassock, I will drink, swear, and woo a lass, 
with any blithe forester in the West Riding.” 

“ Come on, J ack Priest,” said Locksley, “ and be silent; 
thou art as noisy as a whole convent on a holy eve, when 
the Father Abbot has gone to bed. — Come on you, too, my 
masters; tarry not to talk of it. I say, come on; we must 
collect all our forces, and few enough we shall have, if we 
are to storm the Castle of Reginald Front-de-Boeuf.” 

“ What! is it Front-de-Boeuf,” said the Black Knight, 
“ who has stopt on the king’s highway the king’s liege 2 
subjects? — Is he turned thief and oppressor? ” 

“ Oppressor he ever was,” said Locksley. 

“ And for thief,” said the priest, “ I doubt if ever he 
were even half so honest a man as many a thief of my 
acquaintance.” 

“ Move on, priest, and be silent,” said the yeoman; “ it 
were better you led the way to the place of rendezvous, 
than say what should be left unsaid, both in decency and 
prudence.” 

1 A contemptuous term for a monk, because of his shaven head 
(tonsure). 

2 Free. 

[The reader should observe how this chapter, like the two preceding 
ones, directs the attention forward, rather than concentrates it upon 
the events immediately before the mind. See also the suggestions at 
the close of the last chapter.] 


CHAPTER XXI 


Alas, how many hours and years have past, 

Since human forms have round this table sate, 

Or lamp, or taper, on its surface gleam’d ! 

Methinks, I hear the sound of time long pass’d 
Still murmuring o’er us, in the lofty void 
Of these dark arches, like the ling’ring voices 
Of those who long within their graves have slept. 

Orra, a Tragedy. 

While these measures were taking in behalf of Cedric 
and his companions, the armed men by whom the latter had 
been seized, hurried their captives along towards the place 
of security where they intended to imprison them. But 
darkness came on fast, and the paths of the wood seemed 
but imperfectly known to the marauders. They were com- 
pelled to make several long halts, and once or twice to 
return on their road to resume the direction which they 
wished to pursue. The summer morn had dawned upon 
them ere they could travel in full assurance that they held 
the right path. But confidence returned with light, and 
the cavalcade now moved rapidly forward. Meanwhile, 
the following dialogue took place between the two leaders 
of the banditti. 

“ It is time thou shouldst leave us, Sir Maurice/’ said 
the Templar to De Bracy, “ in order to prepare the second 
part of thy mystery. Thou art next, thou knowest, to act 
the Knight Deliverer.” 

“ I have thought better of it,” said De Bracy; “ I will 
not leave thee till the prize is fairly deposited in Front-de- 
Boeuf’s castle. There will I appear before the Lady 
Rowena in mine own shape, and trust that she will set 
down to the vehemence of my passion the violence of which 
I have been guilty.” 

“ And what has made thee change thy plan, De Bracy? ” 
replied the Knight Templar. 

“ That concerns thee nothing,” answered his companion. 

“ I would hope, however, Sir Knight,” said the Templar, 


I VAN HOE 


221 


“ that this alteration of measures arises from no suspicion 
of my honourable meaning, such as Fitzurse endeavoured 
to instil into thee? ” 

“ My thoughts are my own,” answered De Bracy; “ the 
fiend laughs, they say, when one thief robs another; and 
we know that were he to spit fire and brimstone instead, 
it would never prevent a Templar from following his 
bent.” 

“ Or the leader of a Free Company,” answered the Tem- 
plar, “ from dreading at the hands of a comrade and friend 
the injustice he does to all mankind.” 

This is unprofitable and perilous recrimination,” an- 
swered De Bracy; “ suffice it to say, I know the morals 1 of 
the Temple-Order, and I will not give thee the power of 
cheating me out of the fair prey for which I have run such 
risks.” 

“ Psha,” replied the Templar, “ what hast thou to fear? 
— Thou knowest the vows of our order.” 

“ Right well,” said De Bracy, “ and also how they are 
kept. Come, Sir Templar, the laws of gallantry have a 
liberal interpretation in Palestine, and this is a case in 
which I will trust nothing to your conscience.” 

“ Hear the truth, then,” said the Templar; “ I care not 
for your blue-eyed beauty. There is in that train one 
who will make me a better mate.” 

“What! wouldst thou stoop to the waiting damsel?” 
said De Bracy. 

“Ho, Sir Knight,” said the Templar, haughtily. “To 
the waiting-woman will I not stoop. I have a prize among 
the captives as lovely as thine own.” 

“By the mass, thou meanest the fair Jewess! ” said De 
Bracy. 

“And if I do,” said Bois-Guilbert, “who shall gainsay 
me? ” 

“Ho one that I know,” said De Bracy, “ unless it be 
your vow of celibacy, or a check of conscience for an in- 
trigue with a Jewess.” 

“ For my vow,” said the Templar, “ our Grand Master 2 

1 The lax morality of the Templars seems to be proved beyond dis- 
pute. See the article “ Templars ” in the Encyclopcedia Britannica. 

2 The powers of a Grand Master of the Templars are illustrated 
later in the story. 


222 


TV AN 110 PI 


hath granted me a dispensation. And for my conscience, 
a man that has slain three hundred Saracens need not 
reckon up every little failing, like a village girl at her first 
confession upon Good Friday eve.” 

“ Thou knowest best thine own privileges,” said De 
Bracy. “ Yet, I would have sworn thy thought had been 
more on the old usurer’s money bags than on the black 
eyes of the daughter.” 

“ I can admire both,” answered the Templar; “ besides, 
the old Jew is but half-prize. I must share his spoils with 
Front-de-Boeuf, who will not lend us the use of his castle 
for nothing. I must have something that I can term ex- 
clusively my own by this foray of ours, and I have fixed 
on the lovely Jewess as my peculiar prize. But, now thou 
knowest my drift, thou wilt resume thine own original 
plan, wilt thou not? — Thou hast nothing, thou seest, to 
fear from my interference.” 

“ No,” replied De Bracy, “ I will remain beside my 
prize. What thou sayst is passing true, but I like not the 
privileges acquired by the dispensation of the Grand Mas- 
ter, and the merit acquired by the slaughter of three hun- 
dred Saracens. You have too good a right to a free 
pardon, to render you very scrupulous about peccadil- 
loes.” 1 

While this dialogue was proceeding, Cedric was en- 
deavouring to wring out of those who guarded him an 
avowal of their character and purpose. “You should 
be Englishmen,” said he; “and yet, sacred Heaven! you 
prey upon your countrymen as if you were very Normans. 
You should be my neighbours, and, if so, my friends; for 
which of my English neighbours have reason to be other- 
wise? I tell ye, yeomen, that even those among ye who 
have been branded with outlawry have had from me pro- 
tection; for I have pitied their miseries, and curst the 
oppression of their tyrannic nobles. What, then, would 
you have of me? or in what can this violence serve ye? — Ye 
are worse than brute beasts in your actions, and will you 
imitate them in their very dumbness? ” 

It was in vain that Cedric expostulated with his guards, 
who had too many good reasons for their silence to be 
induced to break it either by his wrath or his expostula- 

1 Trifles. 


IVANHOE 


223 


tions. They continued to hurry him along, travelling at 
a very rapid rate, until, at the end of an avenue of huge 
trees, arose Torquilstone, now the hoary and ancient castle 
of Reginald Front-de-Bceuf. It was a fortress of no great 
size, consisting of a donjon, or large and high square tower, 
surrounded by buildings of inferior height, which were 
encircled by an inner court-yard. Around the exterior wall 
was a deep moat, supplied with water from a neighbouring 
rivulet. Front-de-Boeuf, whose character placed him often 
at feud with his enemies, had made considerable additions 
to the strength of his castle, by building towers upon the 
outward wall, so as to flank it at every angle. The access, 
as usual in castles of the period, lay through an arched 
barbican, or outwork, which was terminated and defended 
by a small turret at each corner. 

Cedric no sooner saw the turrets of Front-de-BceuFs 
castle raise their grey and moss-grown battlements, glim- 
mering in the morning sun above the wood by which they 
were surrounded, than he instantly augured more truly 
concerning the cause of his misfortune. 

“ I did injustice,” he said, “ to the thieves and outlaws 
of these woods, when I supposed such banditti to belong 
to their bands; I might as justly have confounded the foxes 
of these brakes with the ravening wolves of France. Tell 
me, dogs — is it my life or my wealth that your master aims 
at? Is it too much that two Saxons, myself and the noble 
Athelstane, should hold land in the country which was once 
the patrimony of our race? — Put us then to death, and 
complete your tyranny by taking our lives, as you began 
with our liberties. If the Saxon Cedric cannot rescue 
England, he is willing to die for her. Tell your tyrannical 
master, I do only beseech him to dismiss the Lady Rowena 
in honour and safety. She is a woman, and he need not 
dread her; and with us will die all who dare fight in her 
cause.” 

The attendants remained as mute to this address as to 
the former, and they now stood before the gate of the 
castle. De Bracy winded his horn three times, and the 
archers and cross-bow men, who had manned the wall upon 
seeing their approach, hastened to lower the drawbridge, and 
admit them. The prisoners were compelled by their guards 
to alight, and were conducted to an apartment where a 


224 


IVANIIOE 


hasty repast was offered them, of which none but Athel- 
stane felt any inclination to partake. Neither had the 
descendant of the Confessor much time to do justice to the 
good cheer placed before them, for their guards gave him 
and Cedric to understand that they were to be imprisoned 
in a chamber apart from Eowena. Eesistance was vain; 
and they were compelled to follow to a large room which, 
rising on clumsy Saxon 1 pillars, resembled those refec- 
tories 2 and chapter-houses 3 which may be still seen in 
the most ancient parts of our most ancient monasteries. 

The Lady Eowena was next separated from her train, 
and conducted, with courtesy indeed, but still without 
consulting her inclination, to a distant apartment. The 
same alarming distinction was conferred on Eebecca, in 
spite of her father’s entreaties, who offered even money, in 
this extremity of distress, that she might be permitted 
to abide with him. “ Base unbeliever,” answered one of 
his guards, “ when thou hast seen thy lair, thou wilt not 
wish thy daughter to partake it.” And, without farther 
discussion, the old Jew was forcibly dragged off in a dif- 
ferent direction from the other prisoners. The domestics 
after being carefully searched and disarmed, were confined 
in another part of the castle; and Eowena was refused even 
the comfort she might have derived from the attendance 
of her handmaiden Elgitha. 

The apartment in which the Saxon chiefs were confined, 
for to them we turn our first attention, although at present 
used as a sort of guard-room, had formerly been the great 
hall of the castle. It was now abandoned to meaner pur- 
poses, because the present lord, among other additions 
to the convenience, security, and beauty of his baronial 
residence, had erected a new and noble hall, whose vaulted 
roof was supported by lighter and more elegant pillars, and 
fitted up with that higher degree of ornament which the 
Normans had already introduced into architecture. 

Cedric paced the apartment, filled with indignant re- 
flections on the past and on the present, while the apathy 
of his companion served, instead of patience and philos- 

1 Short, thick columns. 

2 The dining-room of a monastery. 

3 The room or building set apart for the meeting of the chapter or 
regular assembly of monks or clergy. 


IVANHOE 


225 


ophy, to defend him against every thing save the incon- 
venience of the present moment; and so little did he feel 
even this last, that he was only from time to time roused 
to a reply by Cedric’s animated and impassioned appeal 
to him. 

“ Yes/’ said Cedric, half speaking to himself, and half 
addressing himself to Athelstane, “ it was in this very hall 
that my father 1 feasted with Torquil Wolf ganger, when 
he entertained the valiant and unfortunate Harold , 2 then 
advancing against the Norwegians, who had united them- 
selves to the rebel Tosti. It was in this hall that Harold 
returned the magnanimous answer to the ambassador of 
his rebel brother. Oft have I heard my father kindle 
as he told the tale. The envoy of Tosti was admitted, 
when this ample room could scarce contain the crowd of 
noble Saxon leaders, who were quaffing the blood-red wine 
around their monarch.” 

“ I hope,” said Athelstane, somewhat moved by this part 
of his friend’s discourse, “ they will not forget to send us 
some wine and refections at noon — we had scarce a breath- 
ing-space allowed to break our fast, and I never have the 
benefit of my food when I eat immediately after dismount- 
ing from horseback, though the leeches recommend that 
practice.” 

Cedric went on with his story without noticing this 
interjectional observation of his friend. 

“ The envoy of Tosti,” he said, “ moved up the hall, 
undismayed by the frowning countenances of all around 
him, until he made his obeisance before the throne of 
King Harold. 

“‘What terms/ he said, ‘Lord King, hath thy brother 
Tosti to hope, if he should lay down his arms, and crave 
peace at thy hands? ’ 

“ ‘ A brother’s love/ cried the generous Harold, ‘ and 
the fair earldom of Northumberland.’ 

1 This is one of the most obvious anachronisms in Ivanhoe, as 
Harold (see note below) had been dead nearly one hundred and thirty 
years at the time of the story. 

2 The King of England, Earl Godwin’s son, who was defeated at 
Hastings (Senlac). For an account of his relations with his brother 
Tostig, and of the Norwegian invasion, see Bulwer’s Harold and 
Tennyson’s Harold , in addition to Green’s Short History, Chap, ii, 
Section iv. 


15 


2 26 


1VANII0E 


“ ‘ But should Tosti accept these terms/ continued the 
envoy, ‘ what lands shall be assigned to his faithful ally, 
Hardrada, King of Norway? 3 

“ ‘ Seven feet of English ground/ answered Harold, 
fiercely, ‘ or, as Hardrada is said to he a giant, perhaps 
we may allow him twelve inches more/ 

“ The hall rung with acclamations, and cup and horn 
was filled to the Norwegian, who should he speedily in 
possession of his English territory.” 

“I could have pledged him with all my soul,” said Athel- 
stane, “ for my tongue cleaves to my palate.” 

“ The baffled envoy,” continued Cedric, pursuing with 
animation his tale, though it interested not the listener, 
“ retreated, to carry to Tosti and his ally the ominous answer 
of his injured brother. It was then that the distant towers 
of York, and the bloody streams of the Derwent,* beheld 
that direful conflict in which, after displaying the most 
undaunted valour, the King of Norway and Tosti both 
fell, with ten thousand of their bravest followers. Who 
would have thought that upon the proud day when this 
battle was won, the very gale which waved the Saxon 
banners in triumph was filling the Norman sails, and im- 
pelling them to the fatal shores of Sussex? — Wlio would 
have thought that Harold, within a few brief days, would 
himself possess no more of his kingdom than the share 
which he allotted in his wrath to the Norwegian invader? 
— Who would have thought that you, noble Athelstane 
— that you, descended of Harold’s blood, and that I, whose 
father was not the worst defender of the Saxon crown, 
should be prisoners to a vile Norman, in the very hall in 
which our ancestors held such high festival ? ” 

“ It is sad enough,” replied Athelstane; “ but I trust 
they will hold us to a moderate ransom. At any rate, it 
cannot be their purpose to starve us outright; and yet, 
although it is high noon, I see no preparations for serving 
dinner. Look up at the window, noble Cedric, and judge 
by the sunbeams if it is not on the verge of noon.” 

“ It may be so,” answered Cedric; “ but I cannot look on 
that stained lattice without its awakening other reflections 
than those which concern the passing moment, or its 
privations. When that window was wrought, my noble 
* Note D. Battle of Stamford. [Scott.] 


TVANHOE 


227 


friend, our hardy fathers knew not the art of making glass, 
or of staining it. The pride of Wolf ganger’s father brought 
an artist from Normandy to adorn his hall with this new 
species of emblazonment, that breaks the golden light of 
God’s blessed day into so many fantastic hues. The for- 
eigner came here poor, beggarly, cringing, and subservient, 
ready to doff his cap to the meanest native of the house- 
hold. He returned pampered and proud, to tell his 
rapacious countrymen of the wealth and the simplicity of 
the Saxon nobles — a folly, oh, Athelstane, foreboded 1 of 
old, as well as foreseen, by those descendants of Hengist 
and his hardy tribes who retained the simplicity of their 
manners. We made these strangers our bosom friends, 
our confidential servants; we borrowed their artists and 
their arts, and despised the honest simplicity and hardihood 
with which our brave ancestors supported themselves, and 
we became enervated by Norman arts long ere we fell under 
Norman arms. Far better was our homely diet, eaten in 
peace and liberty, than the luxurious dainties, the love of 
which hath delivered us as bondsmen to the foreign con- 
queror! ” 

“ I should,” replied Athelstane, “ hold very humble diet 
a luxury at present; and it astonishes me, noble Cedric, 
that you can bear so truly in mind the memory of past 
deeds, when it appeareth you forget the very hour of 
dinner.” 

“ It is time lost,” muttered Cedric apart and impatiently, 

to speak to him of aught else but that which concerns his 
appetite. The soul of Ilardicanute 2 hath taken possession 
of him, and he hath no pleasure save to fill, to swill, and 
to call for more. — Alas! ” said he, looking at Athelstane 
with compassion, “ that so dull a spirit should be lodged 
in so goodly a form! Alas! that such an enterprise as the 
regeneration of England should turn on a hinge so im- 
perfect! Wedded to Rowena, indeed, her nobler and more 

1 This refers to the tradition that Hengist and Horsa were invited 
over to England from the Continent to help the Britons against the 
Piets (see note on Yortigern in Chapter iv) and brought back such 
reports of the richness of the country that the well-known invasion 
of the Saxon tribes followed. 

2 The son of Canute, and King of England (1040-1042). ‘'He 
died as he stood at his drink in the house of Osgod Clapa at 
Lambeth.” 


228 


IVANHOE 


generous soul may yet awake the better nature which is 
torpid within him. Yet how should this be, while Rowena, 
Athelstane, and I myself remain the prisoners of this 
brutal marauder, and have been made so perhaps from a 
sense of the dangers which our liberty might bring to the 
usurped power of his nation ? ” 

While the Saxon was plunged in these painful reflections, 
the door of their prison opened, and gave entrance to a 
sewer , 1 holding his white rod of office. This important 
person advanced into the chamber with a grave pace, fol- 
lowed by four attendants, bearing in a table covered with 
dishes, the sight and smell of which seemed to be an instant 
compensation to Athelstane for all the inconvenience he 
had undergone. The persons who attended on the feast 
were masked and cloaked. 

“ What mummery is this? ” said Cedric; “ think you that 
we are ignorant whose prisoners we are, when we are in 
the castle of your master? Tell him,” he continued, will- 
ing to use this opportunity to open a negotiation for his 
freedom , — “ tell your master, Reginald Front- de-Boeuf, 
that we know no reason he can have for withholding our 
liberty, excepting his unlawful desire to enrich himself at 
our expense. Tell him that we yield to his rapacity, as in 
similar circumstances we should do to that of a literal 
robber. Let him name the ransom at which he rates our 
liberty, and it shall be paid, providing the exaction is 
suited to our means.” 

The sewer made no answer, but bowed his head. 

“ And tell Sir Reginald Front-de-Boeuf,” said Athel- 
stane, “ that I send him my mortal defiance, and challenge 
him to combat with me, on foot or horseback, at any secure 
place, within eight days after our liberation; which, if he be 
a true knight, he will not, under these circumstances, ven- 
ture to refuse or to delay.” 

“ I shall deliver to the knight your defiance,” answered 
the sewer; “ meanwhile I leave you to your food.” 

The challenge of Athelstane was delivered with no good 
grace; for a large mouthful, which required the exercise of 
both jaws at once, added to a natural hesitation, consider- 
ably damped the effect of the bold defiance it contained. 
Still, however, his speech was hailed by Cedric as an incon- 
1 A servant in charge of the table. 


IV AN 110 E 


229 


testable token of reviving spirit in his companion, whose 
previous indifference had begun, notwithstanding his 
respect for Athelstane’s descent, to wear out his patience. 
But he now cordially shook hands with him in token of his 
approbation, and was somewhat grieved when Athelstane 
observed, “ that he would fight a dozen such men as Front- 
de-Boeuf, if, by so doing, he could hasten his departure 
from a dungeon where they put so much garlic into their 
pottage.” Notwithstanding this intimation of a relapse 
into the apathy of sensuality, Cedric placed himself oppo- 
site to Athelstane, and soon showed that, if the distresses 
of his country could banish the recollection of food while 
the table was uncovered, yet no sooner were the victuals 
put there than he proved that the appetite of his Saxon 
ancestors had descended' to him along with their other 
qualities. 

The captives had not long enjoyed their refreshment, 
however, ere their attention was disturbed even from this 
most serious occupation by the blast of a horn winded be- 
fore the gate. It was repeated three times, with as much 
violence as if it had been blown before an enchanted castle 
by the destined knight at whose summons halls and towers, 
barbican and battlement, were to roll off like a morning 
vapour. The Saxons started from the table, and hastened 
to the window. But their curiosity was disappointed; for 
these outlets only looked upon the court of the castle, and 
the sound came from beyond its precincts. The summons, 
however, seemed of importance, for a considerable degree 
of bustle instantly took place in the castle. 

[This is the first of the eleven consecutive chapters that deal with 
the Castle of Torquilstone. Observe how careful Scott is to explain 
the technical words he uses in describing it. Have you a sufficiently 
distinct picture of the castle in your mind to enable you to draw a 
rough sketch of its main features? Try to do so. Compare Torquil- 
stone with similar castles in Scott’s other novels ( The Betrothed, Old 
Mortality, Quentin Dunvard , etc.). Mark the sharp character-con- 
trast between Cedric and Athelstane. Ho you think the author’s 
humorous insistence upon the latter’s unfailing gluttony is overdone? 
What device, frequent in romantic fiction, is used just at the close 
of the chapter to carry forward the reader’s curiosity?] 


CHAPTER XXII 


My daughter ! — 0 my ducats ! — 0 my daughter ! 

. . . 0 my Christian ducats ! 

Justice ! the law ! my ducats, and my daughter ! 

Merchant of Venice. 

Leaving the Saxon chiefs to return to their banquet 
as soon as their ungratified curiosity should permit them to 
attend to the calls of their half-satiated appetite, we have 
to look in upon the yet more severe imprisonment of 
Isaac of York. The poor Jew had been hastily thrust 
into a dungeon-vault of the castle, the floor of which was 
deep beneath the level of the ground, and very damp, being 
lower than even the moat itself. The only light was 
received through one or two loop-holes far above the reach 
of the captive’s hand. These apertures admitted, even at 
mid-day, only a dim and uncertain light, which was 
changed for utter darkness long before the rest of the castle 
had lost the blessing of day. Chains and shackles, which 
had been the portion of former captives, from whom active 
exertions to escape had been apprehended, hung rusted and 
empty on the walls of the prison, and in the rings of one of 
those sets of fetters there remained two mouldering bones, 
which seemed to have been once those of the human leg, 
as if some prisoner had been left not only to perish there, 
but to be consumed to a skeleton. 

At one end of this ghastly apartment was a large fire- 
grate, over the top of which were stretched some transverse 
iron bars, half devoured with rust. 

The whole appearance of the dungeon might have ap- 
palled a stouter heart than that of Isaac, who, nevertheless, 
was more composed under the imminent pressure of danger 
than he had seemed to be while affected by terrors of which 
the cause was as yet remote and contingent. The lovers 
of the chase say that the hare feels more agony during the 
pursuit of the greyhounds than when she is struggling in 


I VAN HOE 


231 


their fangs.* And thus it is probable that the Jews, by 
the very frequency of their fear on all occasions, had 
their minds in some degree prepared for every effort of 
tyranny which could be practised upon them; so that no 
aggression, when it had taken place, could bring with it 
that surprise which is the most disabling quality of terror. 
Neither was it the first time that Isaac had been placed 
in circumstances so dangerous. He had therefore experi- 
ence to guide him, as well as hope, that he might again, 
as formerly, be delivered as a prey from the fowler . 1 Above 
all, he had upon his side the unyielding obstinacy of his 
nation, and that unbending resolution with which Israel- 
ites have been frequently known to submit to the uttermost 
evils which power and violence can inflict upon them 
rather than gratify their oppressors by granting their 
demands. 

In this humour of passive resistance, and with his gar- 
ment collected beneath him to keep his limbs from the wet 
pavement, Isaac sat in a corner of his dungeon, where his 
folded hands, his dishevelled hair and beard, his furred 
cloak and high cap, seen by the wiry and broken light, 
would have afforded a study for Rembrandt, had that 
celebrated painter existed at the period. The Jew re- 
mained, without altering his position, for nearly three 
hours, at the expiry 2 of which steps were heard on the 
dungeon stair. The bolts screamed as they were withdrawn 
— 'the hinges creaked as the wicket opened, and Reginald 
Front-de-Boeuf, followed by the two Saracen slaves of the 
Templar, entered the prison. 

Front-de-Boeuf, a tall and strong man, whose life had 
been spent in public war or in private feuds and broils, and 
who had hesitated at no means of extending his feudal 
power, had features corresponding to his character, and 
which strongly expressed the fiercer and more malignant 
passions of the mind. The scars with which his visage was 
seamed would, on features of a different cast, have excited 
the sympathy and veneration due to the marks of honour- 
able valour; but, in the peculiar case of Front-de-Boeuf, 

* Nota Bene . — We by no means warrant the accuracy of this piece 
of natural history, which we give on the authority of the Wardour 
MS.— L. T. [Scott.] 

1 Psalms xci. 3. 3 Expiration. 


232 


IV AN HOE 


they only added to the ferocity of his countenance, and to 
the dread which his presence inspired. This formidable 
baron was clad in a leathern doublet, fitted close to his 
body, which was frayed and soiled with the stains of his 
armour. He had no weapon, excepting a poinard at his 
belt, which served to counterbalance the weight of the 
bunch of rusty keys that hung at his right side. 

The black slaves who attended Front-de-Boeuf were 
stripped of their gorgeous apparel, and attired in jerkins 
and trowsers of coarse linen, their sleeves being tucked up 
above the elbow, like those of butchers when about to 
exercise their function in the slaughter-house. Each had 
in his hand a small pannier 1 ; and, when they entered the 
dungeon, they stopt at the door until Front-de-Bceuf him- 
self carefully locked and double-locked it. Having taken 
this precaution, he advanced slowly up the apartment 
towards the Jew, upon whom he kept his eye fixed, as if he 
wished to paralyze him with his glance, as some animals 
are said to fascinate their prey. It seemed indeed as if the 
sullen and malignant eye of Front-de-Boeuf possessed some 
portion of that supposed power over his unfortunate pris- 
oner. The Jew sate with his mouth agape, and his eyes 
fixed on the savage baron with such earnestness of terror 
that his frame seemed literally to shrink together and to 
diminish in size while encountering the fierce Norman’s 
fixed and baleful gaze. The unhappy Isaac was deprived 
not only of the power of rising to make the obeisance which 
his terror dictated, but he could not even dofi his cap, or 
utter any word of supplication; so strongly was he agitated 
by the conviction that tortures and death were impending 
over him. 

On the other hand, the stately form of the Norman ap- 
peared to dilate in magnitude, like that of the eagle, which 
ruffles up its plumage when about to pounce on its defence- 
less prey. He paused within three steps of the corner 
in which the unfortunate Jew had now, as it were, coiled 
himself up into the smallest possible space, and made a 
sign for one of the slaves to approach. The black satel- 
lite came forward accordingly, and, producing from his 
basket a large pair of scales and several weights, he laid 
them at the feet of Front-de-Bceuf, and again retired to 

1 Basket. 


IV AN IIO E 


233 


the respectful distance at which his companion had al- 
ready taken his station. 

The motions of these men were slow and solemn, as if 
there impended over their souls some preconception of 
horror and of cruelty. Front-de-Bceuf himself opened the 
scene by thus addressing his ill-fated captive. 

“ Most accursed dog of an accursed race,” he said, 
awaking with his deep and sullen voice the sullen echoes 
of his dungeon vault, “ seest thou these scales? ” 

The unhappy Jew returned a feeble affirmative. 

“ In these very scales shalt thou weigh me out,” said the 
relentless baron, “ a thousand silver pounds, after the just 
measure and weight of the Tower of London.” 

“ Holy Abraham! ” returned the Jew, finding voice 
through the very extremity of his danger, “ heard man ever 
such a demand? — Who ever heard, even in a minstrel’s tale, 
of such a sum as a thousand pounds of silver? — What 
human sight was ever blessed with the vision of such a mass 
of treasure? — Not within the walls of York, ransack my 
house and that of all my tribe, wilt thou find the tithe 
of that huge sum of silver that thou speakest of.” 

“ I am reasonable,” answered Front-de-Boeuf, “ and if 
silver be scant, I refuse not gold. At the rate of a mark 
of gold for each six pounds of silver, thou shalt free thy 
unbelieving carcass from such punishment as thy heart 
has never even conceived.” 

“ Have mercy on me, noble knight! ” exclaimed Isaac; 
“ I am old, and poor, and helpless. It were unworthy to 
triumph over me — it is a poor deed to crush a worm.” 

“ Old thou mayst be,” replied the knight; “ more shame 
to their folly who have suffered thee to grow grey in usury 
and knavery — feeble thou mayst be, for when had a Jew 
either heart or hand — but rich it is well known thou art.” 

“ I swear to you, noble knight,” said the J ew, “ by all 
which I believe, and by all which we believe in com- 
mon ” 

“ Perjure not thyself,” said the Norman, interrupting 
him, “ and let not thine obstinacy seal thy doom, until 
thou hast seen and well considered the fate that awaits 
thee. Think not I speak to thee only to excite thy terror, 
and practise on the base cowardice thou hast derived from 
thy tribe. I swear to thee by that which thou dost not 


234 


IV AN HOE 


believe, by the gospel which our church teaches, and by 
the keys which are given her to bind and to loose, that my 
purpose is deep and peremptory. This dungeon is no 
place for trifling. Prisoners ten thousand times more 
distinguished than thou have died within these walls, and 
their fate had never been known! But for thee is reserved 
a long and lingering death, to which theirs were luxury/’ 

He again made a signal for the slaves to approach, and 
spoke to them apart, in their own language; for he also 
had been in Palestine, where, perhaps, he had learnt his 
lesson of cruelty. The Saracens produced from their bas- 
kets a quantity of charcoal, a pair of bellows, and a flask 
of oik While the one struck a light with a flint and steel, 
the other disposed the charcoal in the large rusty grate 
which we have already mentioned, and exercised the bel- 
lows until the fuel came to a red glow. 

“ Seest thou, Isaac,” said Front-de-Bceuf, “ the range of 
iron bars above the glowing charcoal? * — on that warm 
couch thou shalt lie, stripped of thy clothes as if thou wert 
to rest on a bed of down. One of these slaves shall main- 
tain the fire beneath thee, while the other shall anoint thy 
wretched limbs with oil, lest the roast should burn. — Now, 
choose betwixt such a scorching bed and the payment of a 
thousand pounds of silver; for, by the head of my father, 
thou hast no other option.” 

“ It is impossible,” exclaimed the miserable Jew — “ it is 
impossible that your purpose can be real! The good God 
of nature never made a heart capable of exercising such 
cruelty! ” 

“ Trust not to that, Isaac,” said Front-de-Boeuf, “ it 
were a fatal error. Dost thou think that I, who have seen 
a town sacked, in which thousands of my Christian coun- 
trymen perished by sword, by flood, and by fire, will 
blench from my purpose for the outcries or screams of one 
single wretched Jew? — or thinkest thou that these swarthy 
slaves, who have neither law, country, nor conscience, but 
their master’s will — who use the poison, or the stake, or the 
poniard, or the cord, at his slightest wink — thinkest thou 
that they will have mercy, who do not even understand 
the language in which it is asked? — Be wise, old man; dis- 

* Note E. The range of iron bars above the glowing charcoal. 
[Scott.] 


IV AN HOE 


235 


charge thyself of a portion of thy superfluous wealth; repay 
to the hands of a Christian a part of what thou hast ac- 
quired by the usury thou hast practised on those of his 
religion. Thy cunning may soon swell out once more thy 
shrivelled purse, but neither leech nor medicine can restore 
thy scorched hide and flesh wert thou once stretched on 
these bars. Tell down thy ransom, I say, and rejoice that 
at such rate thou canst redeem thee from a dungeon, the 
secrets of which few have returned to tell. I waste no more 
words with thee — choose between thy dross and thy flesh 
and blood, and as thou choosest, so shall it be.” 

“ So may Abraham, Jacob, and all the fathers of our 
people assist me,” said Isaac, “ I cannot make the choice, 
because I have not the means of satisfying your exorbitant 
demand! ” 

“ Seize him and strip him, slaves,” said the knight, “ and 
let the fathers of his race assist him if they can.” 

The assistants, taking their directions more from the 
Baron’s eye and his hand than his tongue, once more 
stepped forward, laid hands on the unfortunate Isaac, 
plucked him up from the ground, and, holding him between 
them, waited the hard-hearted Baron’s farther signal. The 
unhappy Jew eyed their countenances and that of Front- 
de-Bceuf, in hope of discovering some symptoms of relent- 
ing; but that of the Baron exhibited the same cold, half- 
sullen, half-sarcastic smile which had been the prelude to 
his cruelty; and the savagA eyes of the Saracens, rolling 
gloomily under their dark brows, acquiring a yet more 
sinister expression by the whiteness of the circle which 
surrounds the pupil, evinced rather the secret pleasure 
which they expected from the approaching scene than any 
reluctance to be its directors or agents. The Jew then 
looked at the glowing furnace, over which he was presently 
to be stretched, and seeing no chance of his tormentor’s 
relenting, his resolution gave way. 

“ I will pay,” he said, “ the thousand pounds of silver. 
That is,” he added, after a moment’s pause, “ I will pay it 
with the help of my brethren; for I must beg as a mendi- 
cant at the door of our synagogue ere I make up so un- 
heard-of a sum. — When and where must it be delivered? ” 

“ Here,” replied Front-de-Boeuf, u here it must be de- 
livered — weighed it must be — weighed and told down on 


236 


IVANHOE 


this very dungeon floor. — Thinkest thou I will part with 
thee until thy ransom is secure ? ” 

“ And what is to be my surety,” said the Jew, “that I 
shall be at liberty after this ransom is paid? ” 

“ The word of a Norman noble, thou pawn-broking 
slave,” answered Front-de-Bceuf; “ the faith of a Norman 
nobleman, more pure than the gold and silver of thee and 
all thy tribe.” 

“ I crave pardon, noble lord,” said Isaac timidly, “ but 
wherefore should I rely wholly on the word of one who 
will trust nothing to mine? ” 

“ Because thou canst not help it, Jew,” said the knight 
sternly. “ Wert thou now in thy treasure-chamber at York, 
and were I craving a loan of thy shekels, it would be thine 
to dictate the time of payment, and the pledge of security. 
This is my treasure-chamber. Here I have thee at advan- 
tage, nor will I again deign to repeat the terms on which 
I grant thee liberty.” 

The Jew groaned deeply. — “ Grant me,” he said, “ at 
least with my own liberty, that of the companions with 
whom I travel. They scorned me as a Jew, yet they pitied 
my desolation, and because they tarried to aid me by the 
way, a share of my evil hath come upon them; moreover, 
they may contribute in some sort to my ransom.” 

“ If thou meanest yonder Saxon churls,” said Front-de- 
Boeuf, “ their ransom will depend upon other terms than 
thine. Mind thine own concerns, Jew, I warn thee, and 
meddle not with those of others.” 

“ I am, then,” said Isaac, “ only to be set at liberty, 
together with mine wounded friend? ” 

“ Shall I twice recommend it,” said Front-de-Boeuf, “ to 
a son of Israel, to meddle with his own concerns, and leave 
those of others alone? — Since thou hast made thy choice, it 
remains but that thou payest down thy ransom, and that at 
a short day.” 

“ Yet hear me,” said the Jew — “ for the sake of that very 
wealth which thou wouldst obtain at the expense of 

thy ” Here he stopt short, afraid of irritating the 

savage Norman. But Front-de-Bceuf only laughed, and 
himself filled up the blank at which the Jew had hesitated. 
“ At the expense of my conscience, thou wouldst say, Isaac; 
speak it out — I tell thee, I am reasonable. I can bear the 


237 


1 VANHOE 

/ 

reproaches of a loser, even when that loser is a Jew. Thou 
wert not so patient, Isaac, when thou didst invoke justice 
against Jacques Fitzdotterel, for calling thee a usurious 
blood-sucker, when thy exactions had devoured his patri- 
mony.” 

“ 1 swear hy the Talmud,” 1 said the Jew, “ that your 
valour has been misled in that matter. Fitzdotterel drew 
his poniard upon me in mine own chamber, because I 
craved him for mine own silver. The term of payment was 
due at the Passover.” 

“ I care not what he did,” said Front-de-Boeuf; “ the 
question is, when shall I have mine own? — when shall I 
have the shekels, Isaac? ” 

“ Let my daughter Rebecca go forth to York,” answered 
Isaac, “ with your safe conduct, noble knight, and so soon 

as man and horse can return, the treasure ” Here he 

groaned deeply, but added, after the pause of a few seconds, 
— “ The treasure shall be told down on this very floor.” 

“ Thy daughter! ” said Front-de-Boeuf, as if surprised. 
“ By heavens, Isaac, I would I had known of this. I 
deemed that yonder black-browed girl had been thy con- 
cubine, and I gave her to be a handmaiden to Sir Brian de 
Bois-Guilbert, after the fashion of patriarchs and heroes of 
the days of old, who set us in these matters a wholesome 
example.” 

The yell which Isaac raised at this unfeeling communica- 
tion made the very vault to ring, and astounded the two 
Saracens so much that they let go their hold of the Jew. 
He availed himself of his enlargement to throw himself on 
the pavement, and clasp the knees of Front-de-Boeuf. 

“ Take all that you have asked,” said he, “ Sir Knight — 
take ten times more — reduce me to ruin and to beggary, if 
thou wilt, — nay, pierce me with thy poniard, broil me on 
that furnace, but spare my daughter, deliver her in safety 
and honour! — As thou art horn of woman, spare the honour 
of a helpless maiden. She is the image of my deceased 
Rachael, she is the last of six pledges of her love. Will 
you deprive a widowed husband of his sole remaining com- 
fort? — Will you reduce a father to wish that his only living 
child were laid beside her dead mother, in the tomb of 
our fathers? ” 

1 The body of the Hebrew laws, with the comments upon them. 


238 


IV AN HOE 


“ I would/’ said the Norman, somewhat relenting, “ that 
I had known of this before. I thought your race had loved 
nothing save their money-bags.” 

“ Think not so vilely of us, J ews though we be,” said 
Isaac, eager to improve the moment of apparent sympathy; 
“ the hunted fox, the tortured wild-cat, loves its young — 
the despised and persecuted race of Abraham love their 
children! ” 

“ Be it so,” said Front-de-Boeuf; “ I will believe it in 
future, Isaac, for thy very sake — but it aids us not now. I 
cannot help what has happened, or what is to follow; my 
word is passed to my comrade in arms, nor would I break 
it for ten Jews and Jewesses to boot. Besides, why shouldst 
thou think evil is to come to the girl, even if she became 
Bois-Guilbert’s booty?” 

“ There will, there must! ” exclaimed Isaac, wringing 
his hands in agony; “ when did Templars breathe aught 
but cruelty to men, and dishonour to women! ” 

“ Dog of an infidel,” said Front-de-Boeuf, with sparkling 
eyes, and not sorry, perhaps, to seize a pretext for working 
himself into a passion, “ blaspheme not the Holy Order of 
the Temple of Zion, hut take thought instead to pay me the 
ransom thou hast promised, or woe betide thy Jewish 
throat! ” 

“ Robber and villain! ” said the Jew, retorting the insults 
of his oppressor with passion, which, however impotent, he 
now found it impossible to bridle, “ I will pay thee nothing 
— not one silver penny will I pay thee, unless my daughter 
is delivered to me in safety and honour! ” 

“ Art thou in thy senses, Israelite?” said the Norman, 
sternly — “ has thy flesh and blood a charm against heated 
iron and scalding oil? ” 

“I care not!” said the Jew, rendered desperate by 
paternal affection; “ do thy worst. My daughter is my 
flesh and blood, dearer to me a thousand times than those 
limbs which thy cruelty threatens. No silver will I give 
thee, unless I were to pour it molten down thy avaricious 
throat — no, not a silver penny will I give thee, Nazarene, 
were it to save thee from the deep damnation thy whole 
life has merited! Take my life if thou wilt, and say, the 
Jew, amidst his tortures, knew how to disappoint the 
Christian.” 


IV AN HOE 


239 


“ We shall see that,” said Front-de-Boeuf; “ for by the 
blessed rood, which is the abomination of thy accursed 
tribe, thou shalt feel the extremities of fire and steel! — 
Strip him, slaves, and chain him down upon the bars.” 

In spite of the feeble struggles of the old man, the 
Saracens had already torn from him his upper garment, 
and were proceeding totally to disrobe him, when the sound 
of a bugle, twice 1 winded without the castle, penetrated 
even to the recesses of the dungeon, and immediately after 
loud voices were heard calling for Sir Beginald Front-de- 
Boeuf. Unwilling to he found engaged in his hellish occu- 
pation, the savage Baron gave the slaves a signal to restore 
Isaac’s garment, and, quitting the dungeon with his at- 
tendants, he left the Jew to thank God for his own deliver- 
ance, or to lament over his daughter’s captivity and prob- 
able fate, as his personal or parental feelings might prove 
strongest. 

1 Thrice? See the last paragraph t>f the preceding chapter. 

[Is Scott’s portrayal of Front-de-Boeuf as a “ heavy villain” open 
to criticism at any point ? For the mingling of paternal affection 
and avarice in Isaac’s nature, compare Marlowe’s Jew of Malta and 
Shakespeare’s Merchant of Venice .] 


CHAPTER XXIII 


Nay, if the gentle spirit of moving words 
Can no way change you to a milder form, 

I’ll woo you, like a soldier, at arms’ end, 

And woo you ’gainst the nature of love, force you. 

Two Gentlemen of Verona. 

The apartment to which the Lady Rowena had been 
introduced was fitted up with some rude attempts at orna- 
ment and magnificence, and her being placed there might 
be considered as a peculiar mark of respect not offered to 
the other prisoners. But the wife of Front-de-Bceuf, for 
whom it had been originally furnished, was long dead, and 
decay and neglect had impaired the few ornaments with 
which her taste had adorned it. The tapestry hung down 
from the walls in many places, and in others was tarnished 
and faded under the effects of the sun, or tattered and de- 
cayed by age. Desolate, however, as it was, this was the 
apartment of the castle which had been judged most fitting 
for the accommodation of the Saxon heiress; and here she 
was left to meditate upon her fate, until the actors in this 
nefarious drama had arranged the several parts which each 
of them was to perform. This had been settled in a council 
held by Front-de-Bceuf, De Bracy, and the Templar, in 
which, after a long and warm debate concerning the several 
advantages which each insisted upon deriving from his 
peculiar share in this audacious enterprise, they had at 
length determined the fate of their unhappy prisoners. 

It was about the hour of noon, therefore, when De Bracy, 
for whose advantage the expedition had been first planned, 
appeared to prosecute his views upon the hand and posses- 
sions of the Lady Rowena. 

The interval had not entirely been bestowed in holding 
council with his confederates, for De Bracy had found 
leisure to decorate his person with all the foppery of the 
times. His green cassock and vizard were now flung aside. 
His long luxuriant hair was trained to flow in quaint tresses 


IVANHOE 


241 


down his richly furred cloak. His beard was closely shaved, 
his doublet reached to the middle of his leg, and the girdle 
which secured it, and at the same time supported his pon- 
derous sword, was embroidered and embossed with gold 
work. W e have already noticed the extravagant fashion of 
the shoes at this period, and the points of Maurice de 
Bracy’s might have challenged the prize of extravagance 
with the gayest, being turned up and twisted like the 
horns of a ram. Such was the dress of a gallant of the 
period; and, in the present instance, that effect was aided 
by the handsome person and good demeanour of the wearer, 
whose manners partook alike of the grace of a courtier and 
the frankness of a soldier. 

He saluted Rowena by doffing his velvet bonnet, gar- 
nished with a golden brooch, representing St. Michael 1 
trampling down the Prince of Evil. With this, he gently 
motioned the lady to a seat; and, as she still retained her 
standing posture, the knight ungloved his right hand, and 
motioned to conduct her thither. But Rowena declined, 
by her gesture, the proffered compliment, and replied, “ if 
I be in the presence of my jailor, Sir Knight — nor will 
circumstances allow me to think otherwise — it best becomes 
his prisoner to remain standing till she learns her doom.” 

“Alas! fair Rowena,” returned De Bracy, “you are in 
presence of your captive, not your jailor; and it is from your 
fair eyes that De Bracy must receive that doom which you 
fondly expect from him.” 

“ I know you not, sir,” said the lady, drawing herself 
up with all the pride of offended rank and beauty; “ I know 
you not — and the insolent familiarity with which you apply 
to me the jargon of a troubadour forms no apology for the 
violence of a robber.” 

“ To thyself, fair maid,” answered De Bracy, in his 
former tone — “ to thine own charms be ascribed whatever 
I have done which passed the respect due to her whom I 
have chosen queen of my heart and loadstar of my eyes.” 

“ I repeat to you, Sir Knight, that I know you not, and 
that no man wearing chain and spurs ought thus to intrude 
himself upon the presence of an unprotected lady.” 

J An archangel mentioned in the Bible. He is usually represented 
by artists with a dart in his hand, trampling on the fallen Lucifer. 
See Revelation xii. 7-9, and Paradise Lost , Bks. vi, xi, xii. 

16 


242 


IV AN HOE 


“ That I am unknown to you,” said De Bracy, “ is indeed 
my misfortune; yet let me hope that De B racy’s name has 
not been always unspoken, when minstrels or heralds have 
praised deeds of chivalry, whether in the lists or in the 
battle-field.” 

“ To heralds and to minstrels, then, leave thy praise, 
Sir Knight,” replied Rowena, “ more suiting for their 
mouths than for thine own; and tell me which of them 
shall record in song, or in book of tourney, the memorable 
conquest of this night, a conquest obtained over an old man, 
followed by a few timid hinds; and its booty, an unfortu- 
nate maiden, transported against her will to the castle of a 
robber? ” 

“ You are unjust, Lady Rowena,” said the knight, biting 
his lips in some confusion, and speaking in a tone more 
natural to him than that of affected gallantry, which he 
had at first adopted; “ yourself free from passion, you can 
allow- no excuse for the frenzy of another, although caused 
by your own beauty.” 

“ I pray you, Sir Knight,” said Rowena, “ to cease a 
language so commonly used by strolling minstrels that it 
becomes not the mouth of knights or nobles. Certes, you 
constrain me to sit down, since you enter upon such com- 
monplace terms, of which each vile crowder 1 hath a stock 
that might last from hence to Christmas.” 

“ Proud damsel,” said De Bracy, incensed at finding his 
gallant style procured him nothing but contempt — “ proud 
damsel, thou shalt be as proudly encountered. Know then, 
that I have supported my pretensions to your hand in the 
way that best suited thy character. It is meeter for thy 
humour to be wooed with bow and bill, than in set terms 
and in courtly language.” 

“ Courtesy of tongue,” said Rowena, “ v T hen it is used 
to veil churlishness of deed, is but a knight’s girdle around 
the breast of a base clown. I wonder not that the restraint 
appears to gall you — more it w-ere for your honour to have 
retained the dress and language of an outlaw than to veil 
the deeds of one under an affectation of gentle language 
and demeanour.” 

“ You counsel well, lady,” said the Norman; “ and in 
the bold language which best justifies bold action, I tell 
1 A player on the “crowd,” an ancient kind of fiddle. 


I VAN HOE 


243 


thee, thou shalt never leave this castle, or thou shalt leave 
it as Maurice de Bracy’s wife. I am not wont to be baffled 
in my enterprises, nor needs a Norman noble scrupulously 
to vindicate his conduct to the Saxon maiden whom he 
distinguishes by the offer of his hand. Thou art proud, 
Rowena, and thou art the fitter to be my wife. By what 
other means couldst thou be raised to high honour and to 
princely place, saving by my alliance? How else wouldst 
thou escape from the mean precincts of a country grange, 
where Saxons herd with the swine which form their wealth, 
to take thy seat, honoured as thou shouldst be, and shalt 
be, amid all in England that is distinguished by beauty, or 
dignified by power? ” 

“ Sir Knight,” replied Rowena, “ the grange which you 
contemn hath been my shelter from infancy; and, trust me, 
when I leave it — should that day ever arrive — it shall be 
with one who has not learnt to despise the dwelling and 
manners in which I have been brought up.” 

“ I guess your meaning, lady,” said De Bracy, “ though 
you may think it lies too obscure for my apprehension. But 
dream not that Richard Coeur-de-Lion will ever resume his 
throne, far less that Wilfred of Ivanhoe, his minion, will 
ever lead thee to his footstool, to be there welcomed as the 
bride of a favourite. Another suitor might feel jealousy 
while he touched this string; but my firm purpose cannot 
be changed by a passion so childish and so hopeless. Know, 
lady, that this rival is in my power, and that it rests but 
with me to betray the secret of his being within the castle to 
Front-de-Boeuf, whose jealousy will be more fatal than 
mine.” 

“ Wilfred here?” said Rowena, in disdain; “ that is as 
true as that Front-de-Boeuf is his rival.” 

De Bracy looked at her steadily for an instant. 

“ Wert thou really ignorant of this?” said he; “didst 
thou not know that Wilfred of Ivanhoe travelled in the 
litter of the Jew? — a meet conveyance for the crusader 
whose doughty arm was to reconquer the Holy Sepulchre! ” 
And he laughed scornfully. 

“ And if he is here,” said Rowena, compelling herself to 
a tone of indifference, though trembling with an agony of 
apprehension which she could not suppress, “in what is he 
the rival of Front-de-Boeuf? or what has he to fear beyond 


244 


IVANIIOE 


a short imprisonment, and an honourable ransom, accord- 
ing to the use of chivalry? ” 

“ Rowena,” said De Bracy, “ art thou, too, deceived by 
the common error of thy sex, who think there can be no 
rivalry but that respecting their own charms? Knowest 
thou not there is a jealousy of ambition and of wealth, as 
well as of love; and that this our host, Front-de-Boeuf, will 
push from his road him who opposes his claim to the fair 
barony of Ivanhoe, as readily, eagerly, and unscrupulously, 
as if he were preferred to him by some blue-eyed damsel? 
But smile on my suit, lady, and the wounded champion 
shall have nothing to fear from Front-de-Boeuf, whom else 
thou mayst mourn for, as in the hands of one who has never 
shown compassion.” 

“ Save him, for the love of Heaven! ” said Rowena, her 
firmness giving way under terror for her lover’s impending 
fate. 

“ I can — I will — it is my purpose,” said De Bracy; “ for, 
when Rowena consents to be the bride of De Bracy, who is 
it shall dare to put forth a violent hand upon her kinsman 
— the son of her guardian — the companion of her youth? 
But it is thy love must buy his protection. I am not 
romantic fool enough to further the fortune, or avert the 
fate, of one who is likely to be a successful obstacle between 
me and my wishes. Use thine influence with me in his 
behalf, and he is safe, — refuse to employ it, Wilfred dies, 
and thou thyself art not the nearer to freedom.” 

“ Thy language,” answered Rowena, “ hath in its in- 
different bluntness something which cannot be reconciled 
with the horrors it seems to express. I believe not that thy 
purpose is so wicked, or thy power so great.” 

“ Flatter thyself, then, with that belief,” said De Bracy, 
“ until time shall prove it false. Thy lover lies wounded 
in this castle — thy preferred lover. He is a bar betwixt 
Front-de-Boeuf and that which Front-de-Boeuf loves better 
than either ambition or beauty. What will it cost beyond 
the blow of a poniard, or the thrust of a javelin, to silence 
his opposition for ever? Hay, were Front-de-Boeuf afraid 
to justify a deed so open, let the leech but give his patient 
a wrong draught — let the chamberlain , 1 or the nurse who 
tends him, but pluck the pillow from his head, and Wilfred, 

1 The officer in charge of the private apartments of persons of rank. 


IV AN HOE 


245 


in his present condition, is sped without the effusion of 
blood. Cedric also ” 

“ And Cedric also,” said Rowena, repeating his words; 
“ my noble — my generous guardian! I deserved the evil I 
have encountered, for forgetting his fate even in that of his 
son! ” 

“ Cedric’s fate also depends upon thy determination,” 
said De Bracy; “ and I leave thee to form it.” 

Hitherto, Rowena had sustained her part in this trying 
scene with undismayed courage, but it was because she had 
not considered the danger as serious and imminent. Her 
disposition was naturally that which physiognomists con- 
sider as proper to fair complexions, mild, timid, and gentle; 
but it had been tempered, and, as it were, hardened, by the 
circumstances of her education. Accustomed to see the 
will of all, even of Cedric himself, (sufficiently arbitrary 
with others,) give way before her wishes, she had acquired 
that sort of courage and self-confidence which arises from 
the habitual and constant deference of the circle in which 
we move. She could scarce conceive the possibility of her 
will being opposed, far less that of its being treated with 
total disregard. 

Her haughtiness and habit of domination was, therefore, 
a fictitious character, induced over that which was natural 
to her, and it deserted her when her eyes were opened to the 
extent of her own danger, as well as that of her lover and 
her guardian; and when she found her will, the slightest 
expression of which was wont to command respect and 
attention, now placed in opposition to that of a man of a 
strong, fierce, and determined mind, who possessed the 
advantage over her, and was resolved to use it, she quailed 
before him. 

After casting her eyes around, as if to look for the aid 
which was nowhere to be found, and after a few broken 
interjections, she raised her hands to heaven, and burst 
into a passion of uncontrolled vexation and sorrow. It was 
impossible to see so beautiful a creature in such extremity 
without feeling for her, and De Bracy was not unmoved, 
though he was yet more embarrassed than touched. He 
had, in truth, gone too far to recede; and yet, in Rowena’s 
present condition, she could not be acted on either by 
argument or threats. He paced the apartment to and fro, 


246 


It AN HOE 


now vainly exhorting the terrified maiden to compose her- 
self, now hesitating concerning his own line of conduct. 

If, thought he, I should be moved by the tears and 
sorrow of this disconsolate damsel, what should I reap but 
the loss of those fair hopes for which I have encountered 
so much risk, and the ridicule of Prince John and his 
jovial comrades? “And yet / 7 he said to himself, “I feel 
myself ill framed for the part which I am playing. I can- 
not look on so fair a face while it is disturbed with agony, 
or on those eyes when they are drowned in tears. I would 
she had retained her original haughtiness of disposition, 
or that I had a larger share of Front-de-Boeuf’s thrice- 
tempered hardness of heart ! 77 

Agitated by these thoughts, he could only bid the un- 
fortunate Rowena be comforted, and assure her that as 
yet she had no reason for the excess of despair to which 
she was now giving way. But in this task of consolation 
De Bracy was interrupted by the horn, “ hoarse-winded 
blowing far and keen , 77 which had at the same time alarmed 
the other inmates of the castle, and interrupted their several 
plans of avarice and of license. Of them all, perhaps, 
De Bracy least regretted the interruption; for his con- 
ference with the Lady Rowena had arrived at a point where 
he found it equally difficult to prosecute or to resign his 
enterprise. 

And here 1 we cannot but think it necessary to offer some 
better proof than the incidents of an idle tale, to vindicate 
the melancholy representation of manners which has been 
just laid before the reader. It is grievous to think that 
those valiant barons, to whose stand agfinst the crown the 
liberties of England were indebted for their existence, 
should themselves have been such dreadful oppressors, and 
capable of excesses contrary not only to the laws of Eng- 
land, but to those of nature and humanity. But, alas! we 
have only to extract from the industrious Henry 2 3 one of 
those numerous passages which he has collected from con- 
temporary historians, to prove that fiction itself can hardly 
reach the dark reality of the horrors of the period. 

1 The remaining paragraphs of this chapter were inserted after the 

first draught of the novel. See the Suggestions at the close. 

3 Robert Henry (1718-1790), a Scottish historian, author of a His- 
tory of England. 


IV AN ROE 


247 

The description given by the author of the Saxon Chron- 
icle of the cruelties exercised in the reign of King Stephen 1 
by the great barons and lords of castles, who were all Nor- 
mans, affords a strong proof of the excesses of which they 
were capable when their passions were inflamed. “ They 
grievously oppressed the poor people by building castles; 
and when they were built, they filled them with wicked 
men, or rather devils, who seized both men and women who 
they imagined had any money, threw them into prison, 
and put them to more cruel tortures than the martyrs ever 
endured. They suffocated some in mud, and suspended 
others by the feet, or the head, or the thumbs, kindling 
fires below them. They squeezed the heads of some with 
knotted cords till they pierced their brains, while they 
threw others into dungeons swarming with serpents, snakes, 
and toads.” But it would he cruel to put the reader to the 
pain of perusing the remainder of this description.* 

As another instance of these bitter fruits of conquest, 
and perhaps the strongest that can he quoted, we may 
mention that the Princess Matilda , 2 though a daughter of. 
the King of Scotland , 2 and afterwards both Queen of Eng- 
land, niece to Edgar Atheling , 2 and mother to the Empress 
of Germany, 2 — the daughter, the wife, and the mother of 
monarchs, — was obliged, during her early residence for 
education in England, to assume the veil of a nun, as the 
only means of escaping the licentious pursuit of the Nor- 
man nobles. This excuse she stated before a great council 
of the clergy of England, as the sole reason for her having 
taken the religious habit. The assembled clergy admitted 
the validity of the plea, and the notoriety of the circum- 
stances upon which it was founded; giving thus an indubi- 
table and most remarkable testimony to the existence of 

* Henry’s Hist. edit. 1805, vol. vii, p. 346. [Scott.] The original 
passage may be found in Earle and Plummer’s Two Anglo-Saxon 
Chronicles (Clarendon Press), p. 262. It was written in the year 1137. 

1 See Table of English Kings. 

2 The Princess Matilda (d. 1118) was the daughter of Malcolm III 
of Scotland, who had married the sister of Edgar Atheling (chosen 
King of England in 1066). Matilda married Henry I of England, 
and her daughter, of the same name (1102-1167), married the German 
King Henry V in 1114, and after his death, Geoffrey, Count of 
Anjou, by whom she became the mother of Henry II of England. 
There is another reference to these characters in Chapter xlii. See 
the note there given, and also the Table of English Kings. 


248 


IV AN HOE 


that disgraceful license by which that age was stained. It 
was a matter of public knowledge, they said, that after the 
conquest of King William, his Norman followers, elated by 
so great a victory, acknowledged no law but their own 
wicked pleasure, and not only despoiled the conquered 
Saxons of their lands and their goods, but invaded the 
honour of their wives and of their daughters with the most 
unbridled license; and hence it was then common for 
matrons and maidens of noble families to assume the veil, 
and take shelter in convents, not as called thither by the 
vocation of God, but solely to preserve their honour from 
the unbridled wickedness of man. 

Such and so licentious were the times, as announced by 
the public declaration of the assembled clergy, recorded by 
Eadmer 1 ; and we need add nothing more to vindicate the 
probability of the scenes which we have detailed, and are 
about to detail, upon the more apocryphal authority of the 
Wardour MS. 

1 A monkish historian (d. 1124 ?), author of the Historici Novorum 
r- (1066-1122). The volume was in Scott’s library. 

[The scene between Rowena and De Bracy is finely conceived, and 
affords an artistic contrast to the still more admirable scene between 
Rebecca and the Templar in the succeeding chapter. What qualities 
possessed by Rowena fit her to be the heroine of a romantic tale? 
Has she shown any defects, as a typical heroine, or as a woman, up 
to this point? Are the last four paragraphs — the inserted ones — in 
keeping with the general tone of the story? Do you think the writer 
of a historical novel ought to bring forward actual proofs of the 
manners and facts which he uses in his narrative?] 


CHAPTER XXIV 


I’ll woo her as the lion wooes his bride. 

Douglas. 

While the scenes we have described were passing in 
other parts of the castle, the Jewess Rebecca awaited her 
fate in a distant and sequestered turret. Hither she had 
been led by two of her disguised ravishers, and on being 
thrust into the little cell she found herself in the presence 
of an old sibyl, 1 who kept murmuring to herself a Saxon 
rhyme, as if to beat time to the revolving dance which her 
spindle was performing upon the floor. The hag raised 
her head as Rebecca entered, and scowled at the fair Jewess 
with the malignant envy with which old age and ugliness, 
when united with evil conditions, are apt to look upon 
youth and beauty. 

“ Tho.u must up and away, old house-cricket,” said one 
of the men; “ our noble master commands it. Thou must 
e’en leave this chamber to a fairer guest.” 

“ Ay,” grumbled the hag, “ even thus is service requited. 
I have known when my hare word would have cast the best 
man-at-arms among ye out of saddle and out of service; 
and now must I up and away at the command of every 
groom such as thou.” 

“ Good Dame Urfried,” said the other man, “ stand not 
to reason on it, hut up and away. Lords’ bests must be 
listened to with a quick ear. Thou hast had thy day, old 
dame, hut thy sun has long been set. Thou art now the 
very emblem of an old war-horse turned out on the barren 
heath — -thou hast had thy paces in thy time, hut now a 
broken amble is the best of them. Come, amble off with 
thee.” 

“ 111 omens dog ye both! ” said the old woman; “ and a 

1 In ancient mythology, one of several women reputed to have 
especial powers of prophecy or divination ; here used to denote a 
woman of venerable appearance. 


250 


IV AN UO E 


kennel be your burying-place ! May the evil demon Zerne- 
bock 1 tear me limb from limb, if I leave my own cell ere 
I have spun out the hemp on my distaff! ” 

“ Answer it to our lord, then, old housefiend,” said the 
man, and retired; leaving Rebecca in company with the old 
woman, upon whose presence she had been thus unwillingly 
forced. 

“What devil’s deed have they now in the wind?” said 
the old hag, murmuring to herself, yet from time to time 
casting a sidelong and malignant glance at Rebecca; “but 
it is easy to guess. Bright eyes, black locks, and a skin like 
paper ere the priest stains it with his black unguent — ay, 
it is easy to guess why they send her to this lone turret, 
whence a shriek could no more be heard than at the 
depth of five hundred fathoms beneath the earth. — Thou 
wilt have owls for thy neighbours, fair one; and their 
screams will be heard as far, and as much regarded, as thine 
own. Outlandish, too,” she said, marking the dress and 
turban of Rebecca. “ What country art thou of? — a Sara- 
cen? or an Egyptian? — Why dost not answer? Thou canst 
weep — canst thou not speak? ” 

“ Be not angry, good mother,” said Rebecca. 

“ Thou needst say no more,” replied Urfried ; “ men 
know a fox by the train , 2 and a Jewess by her tongue.” 

“ For the sake of mercy,” said Rebecca, “ tell me what I 
am to expect as the conclusion of the violence which hath 
dragged me hither! Is it my life they seek, to atone for 
my religion? I will lay it down cheerfully.” 

“Thy life, minion?” answered the sibyl; “what would 
taking thy life pleasure them? — Trust me, thy life is in no 
peril. Such usage shalt thou have as was once thought 
good enough for a noble Saxon maiden. And shall a 
Jewess, like thee, repine because she hath no better? Look 
at me! I was as young and twice as fair as thou, when 
Front-de-Boeuf, father of this Reginald, and his Normans, 
stormed this castle. My father and his seven sons de- 
fended their inheritance from story to story, from chamber 
to chamber — there was not a room, not a step of the stair, 
that was not slippery with their blood. They died — they 

J Chernibog, the Devil of the Prussian Slavs. Freeman notes the 
inaccuracy of this allusion, as of many others. 

2 Tail. 


1VANII0E 


251 


died every man; and ere their bodies were cold, and ere 
their blood was dried, I had become the prey and the scorn 
of the conqueror! ” 

Is there no help? — Are there no means of escape?” 
said Rebecca. “ Richly, richly would I requite thine aid.” 

“ Think not of it,” said the hag; “ from hence there is 
no escape but through the gates of death; and it is late, 
late,” she added, shaking her grey head, “ ere these open 
to us — yet it is comfort to think that we leave behind us 
on earth those who shall be wretched as ourselves. Fare 
thee well, Jewess! — Jew or Gentile, thy fate would be the 
same; for thou hast to do with them that have neither 
scruple nor pity. Fare thee well, I say. My thread is 
spun out — thy task is yet to begin.” 

“Stay! stay! for Heaven’s sake!” said Rebecca; “stay, 
though it be to curse and to revile me — thy presence is yet 
some protection.” 

“The presence of the mother of God were no protection,” 
answered the old woman. “ There she stands,” pointing to 
a rude image of the Virgin Mary, “ see if she can avert the 
fate that awaits thee.” 

She left the room as she spoke, her features writhed into 
a sort of sneering laugh, which made them seem even more 
hideous than their habitual frown. She locked the door 
behind her, and Rebecca might hear her curse every step 
for its steepness, as slowly and with difficulty she descended 
the turret-stair. 

Rebecca was now to expect a fate even more dreadful 
than that of Rowena; for what probability was there that 
either softness or ceremony would be used towards one of 
her oppressed race, whatever shadow of these might be 
preserved towards a Saxon heiress? Yet had the Jewess 
this advantage, that she was better prepared by habits of 
thought, and by natural strength of mind, to encounter 
the dangers to which she was exposed. Of a strong and 
observing character, even from her earliest years, the pomp 
and wealth which her father displayed within his walls, or 
which she witnessed in the houses of other wealthy 
Hebrews, had not been able to blind her to the precarious 
circumstances under which they were enjoyed. Like 
Damocles at his celebrated banquet, Rebecca perpetually 
beheld, amid that gorgeous display, the sword which was 


252 


IVAN 110 E 


suspended over the heads of her people by a single hair. 
These reflections had tamed and brought down to a pitch 
of sounder judgment a temper which, under other circum- 
stances, might have waxed haughty, supercilious, and ob- 
stinate. 

From her father’s example and injunctions, Rebecca had 
learnt to bear herself courteously towards all who ap- 
proached her. She could not indeed imitate his excess of 
subservience, because she was a stranger to the meanness 
of mind, and to the constant state of timid apprehension, 
by which it was dictated; hut she bore herself with a proud 
humility, as if submitting to the evil circumstances in 
which she was placed as the daughter of a despised race, 
while she felt in her mind the consciousness that she was 
entitled to hold a higher rank from her merit, than the 
arbitrary despotism of religious prejudice permitted her to 
aspire to. 

Thus prepared to expect adverse circumstances, she had 
acquired the firmness necessary for acting under them. 
Her present situation required all her presence of mind, 
and she summoned it up accordingly. 

Her first care was to inspect the apartment; but it 
afforded few hopes either of escape or protection. It con- 
tained neither secret passage nor trap-door, and unless 
where the door by which she had entered joined the main 
building, seemed to be circumscribed by the round exterior 
wall of the turret. The door had no inside bolt or bar. 
The single window opened upon an embattled space sur- 
mounting the turret, which gave Rebecca, at first sight, 
some hopes of escaping; but she soon found it had no com- 
munication with any other part of the battlements, being 
an isolated bartisan, or balcony, secured, as usual, by a 
parapet , 1 with embrasures , 2 at which a few archers might 
be stationed for defending the turret, and flanking with 
their shot the wall of the castle on that side. 

There was therefore no hope but in passive fortitude, 
and in that strong reliance on Heaven natural to great 
and generous characters. Rebecca, however erroneously 
taught to interpret the promises of Scripture to the chosen 
people of Heaven, did not err in supposing the present to 

1 A protecting wall at the outer edge of the turret. 

2 Openings in the parapet. 


IVAN 1I0E 


253 


be their hour of trial, or in trusting that the children of 
Zion would be one day called in with the fulness of the 
Gentiles. In the meanwhile, all around her showed that 
their present state was that of punishment and probation, 
and that it was their especial duty to suffer without sinning. 
Thus prepared to consider herself as the victim of misfor- 
tune, Eebecca had early reflected upon her own state, and 
schooled her mind to meet the dangers which she had 
probably to encounter. 

The prisoner trembled, however, and changed colour, 
when a stef> was heard on the stair, and the door of the 
turret-chamber slowly opened, and a tall man, dressed as 
one of those banditti to whom they owed their misfortune, 
slowly entered, and shut the door behind him; his cap, 
pulled down upon his brows, concealed the upper part of 
his face, and he held his mantle in such a manner as to 
muffle the rest. In this guise, as if prepared for the 
execution of some deed at the thought of which he was 
himself ashamed, he stood before the affrighted prisoner; 
yet, ruffian as his dress bespoke him, he seemed at a loss 
to express what purpose had brought him thither, so that 
Eebecca, making an effort upon herself, had time to antici- 
pate his explanation. She had already unclasped two 
costly bracelets and a collar, which she hastened to proffer 
to the supposed outlaw, concluding naturally that to gratify 
his avarice was to bespeak his favour. 

“ Take these,” she said, “ good friend, and for God’s sake 
be merciful to me and my aged father! These ornaments 
are of value, yet are they trifling to what he would bestow 
to obtain our dismissal from this castle, free and unin- 
jured.” 

“ Fair flower of Palestine,” replied the outlaw, “ these 
pearls are orient, but they yield in whiteness to your teeth; 
the diamonds are brilliant, but they cannot match your 
eyes; and ever since I have taken up this wild trade, I have 
made a vow to prefer beauty to wealth.” 

“ Do not do yourself such wrong,” said Eebecca; “ take 
ransom, and have mercy! — Gold will purchase you pleas- 
ure, — to misuse us could only bring thee remorse. My 
father will willingly satiate thy utmost wishes; and if thou 
wilt act wisely, thou mayst purchase with our spoils thy 
restoration to civil society — mayst obtain pardon for past 


254 


IVAN HOE 


errors, and be placed beyond the necessity of committing 
more.” 

“ It is well spoken,” replied the outlaw in French, find- 
ing it difficult probably to sustain, in Saxon, a conversation 
which Rebecca had opened in that language; “ but know, 
bright lily of the vale of Baca 1 ! that thy father is already 
in the hands of a powerful alchemist, who knows how to 
convert into gold and silver even the rusty bars of a dun- 
geon grate. The venerable Isaac is subjected to an alem- 
bic 2 which will distil from him all he holds dear, without 
any assistance from my requests or thy entfeaty. The 
ransom must be paid by love and beauty, and in no other 
coin will I accept it.” 

“ Thou art no outlaw,” said Rebecca, in the same lan- 
guage in which he addressed her; “ no outlaw had refused 
such offers. No outlaw in this land uses the dialect in 
which thou hast spoken. Thou art no outlaw, but a Nor- 
man — a Norman, noble perhaps in birth — 0, be so in thy 
actions, and cast off this fearful mask of outrage and vio- 
lence! ” 

“ And thou, who canst guess so truly,” said Brian de 
Bois-Guilbert, dropping the mantle from his face, “ art no 
true daughter of Israel, but in all, save youth and beauty, 
a very witch of Endor. 3 I am not an outlaw, then, fair 
rose of Sharon. And I am one who will be more prompt 
to hang thy neck and arms with pearls and diamonds, which 
so well become them, than to deprive thee of these orna- 
ments.” 

“ What wouldst thou have of me,” said Rebecca, “ if not 
my wealth? — We can have nought in common between us 
— you are a Christian — I am a Jewess. — Our union were 
contrary to the laws, alike of the church and the syna- 
gogue.” 

“ It were so, indeed,” replied the Templar, laughing; 
“ wed with a Jewess? Despardieux 4 ! — Not if she were 
the Queen of Sheba! And know, besides, sweet daughter 
of Zion, that were the most Christian King 5 to offer Ine his 

1 Psalms Ixxxiv. 6. 

2 The vessel used in distillation. 

3 1 Samuel xxviii. 7-25. 

4 In God’s name ! 

5 A title frequently used in addressing French kings, from very 
early times. 


IV AN IIO E 


255 


most Christian daughter, with Languedoc 1 for a dowery, 
I could not wed her. It is against my vow to love any 
maiden, otherwise than par amours , 2 as I will love thee. I 
am a Templar. Behold the cross of my Holy Order.” 

“ Barest thou appeal to it,” said Rebecca, “ on an occa- 
sion like the present?” 

“ And if I do so,” said the Templar, “ it concerns not 
thee, who art no believer in the blessed sign of our salva- 
tion.” 

“I believe as my fathers taught,” said Rebecca; “and 
may God forgive my belief if erroneous! But you, Sir 
Knight, what is yours, when you appeal without scruple to 
that which you deem most holy, even while you are about 
to transgress the most solemn of your vows as a knight, and 
as a man of religion? ” 

“It is gravely and well preached, 0 daughter of Si- 
rach 3 !” answered the Templar; “ but, gentle Ecclesiastica, 3 
thy narrow Jewish prejudices make thee blind to our high 
privilege. Marriage were an enduring crime on the part of 
a Templar; but what lesser folly I may practise, I shall 
speedily be absolved from at the next Preceptory 4 of our 
Order. Not the wisest of monarchs, not his father, whose 
examples you must needs allow are weighty, claimed wider 
privileges than we poor soldiers of the Temple of Zion have 
won by our zeal in its defence. The protectors of Solo- 
mon’s Temple may claim license by the example of 
Solomon.” 

“If thou readest the Scripture,” said the Jewess, “and 
the lives of the saints, only to justify thine own license and 
profligacy, thy crime is like that of him who extracts 
poison from the most healthful and necessary herbs.” 

The eyes of the Templar flashed fire at this reproof. 
“ Hearken,” he said, “ Rebecca; I have hitherto spoken 
mildly to thee, but now my language shall be that of a 
conqueror. Thou art the captive of my bow and spear — 

1 An ancient province of southern France. 

2 Illicitly. 

3 Ecclesiasticus, the “Wisdom” or Proverbs of Jesus the son of 
Sirach, was one of the books of the so-called Apocrypha, or extra- 
canonical Scriptures. 

4 Establishments of the Knights Templars, the superiors of which 
were called Preceptors. The word is also used, as here, to denote the 
regular assembly of the Order. 


256 


IV AN HOE 


subject to my will by the laws of all nations; nor will I 
abate an inch of my right, or abstain from taking by vio- 
lence what thou refusest to entreaty or necessity/' 

“ Stand back/' said Rebecca — “ stand back, and hear me 
ere thou offerest to commit a sin so deadly! My strength 
thou mayst indeed overpower, for God made women weak, 
and trusted their defence to man’s generosity. But I will 
proclaim thy villainy, Templar, from one end of Europe to 
the other. I will owe to the superstition of thy brethren 
what their compassion might refuse me. Each Preceptory 
— each Chapter of thy Order, shall learn that, like a 
heretic, thou hast sinned with a Jewess. Those who trem- 
ble not at thy crime will hold thee accursed for having so 
far dishonoured the cross thou wearest as to follow a 
daughter of my people.” 

“ Thou art keen-witted, Jewess,” replied the Templar, 
well aware of the truth of what she spoke, and that the 
rules of his Order condemned in the most positive manner, 
and under high penalties, such intrigues as he now prose- 
cuted, and that, in some instances, even degradation had 
followed upon it — “ thou art sharp-witted,” he said, “ but 
loud must be thy voice of complaint, if it is heard beyond 
the iron walls of this castle; within these, murmurs, 
laments, appeals to justice, and screams for help, die alike 
silent away. One thing only can save thee, Rebecca. Sub- 
mit to thy fate — embrace our religion, and thou shalt go 
forth in such state, that many a Norman lady shall yield 
as well in pomp as in beauty to the favourite of the best 
lance among the defenders of the Temple.” 

“ Submit to my fate! ” said Rebecca — “ and, sacred 
Heaven! to what fate? — Embrace thy religion! and what 
religion can it be that harbours such a villain? — Thou the 
best lance of the Templars! — Graven knight! forsworn 
priest! I spit at thee, and I defy thee. — The God of Abra- 
ham’s promise hath opened an escape to his daughter — even 
from this abyss of infamy! ” 

As she spoke, she threw open the latticed window which 
led to the bartisan, and in an instant after, stood on the 
very verge of the parapet, with not the slightest screen 
between her and the tremendous depth below. Unprepared 
for such a desperate effort, for she had hitherto stood per- 
fectly motionless, Bois-Guilbert had neither time to inter- 


IVANHOE 


257 


cept nor to stop her. As he offered to advance, she ex- 
claimed, “ Remain where thou art, proud Templar, or at 
thy choice advance! — one foot nearer, and I plunge myself 
from the precipice; my body shall be crushed out of the 
very form of humanity upon the stones of that court-yard, 
ere it become the victim of thy brutality! ” 

As she spoke this, she clasped her hands and extended 
them towards heaven, as if imploring mercy on her soul 
before she made the final plunge. The Templar hesitated, 
and a resolution which had never yielded to pity or distress 
gave way to his admiration of her fortitude. “ Come 
down,” he said, “ rash girl ! — I swear by earth, and sea, and 
sky, I will offer thee no offence.” 

“ I will not trust thee. Templar,” said Rebecca; “ thou 
hast taught me better how to estimate the virtues of thine 
Order. The next Preceptory would grant thee absolution 
for an oath, the keeping of which concerned nought but 
the honour or the dishonour of a miserable Jewish maiden.” 

“You do me injustice,” exclaimed the Templar fer- 
vently; “ I swear to you by the name which I bear — by the 
cross on my bosom — by the sword on my side — by the 
ancient crest 1 of my fathers do I swear, I will do thee no 
injury whatsoever! If not for thyself, yet for thy father's 
sake forbear! I will be his friend, and in this castle he will 
need a powerful one.” 

“ Alas! ” said Rebecca, “ I know it but too well — dare I 
trust thee ? ” 

“ May my arms be reversed , 2 and my name dishonoured,” 
said Brian de Bois-Guilbert, “ if thou shalt have reason to 
complain of me! Many a law, many a commandment have 
I broken, but my word 3 never.” 

“ I will then trust thee,” said Rebecca, “ thus far; ” and 
she descended from the verge of the battlement, but re- 
mained standing close by one of the embrasures, or machi- 
colles , as they were then called.— “ Here,” she said, “I 
take my stand. Remain where thou art, and if thou shalt 

1 An heraldic bearing, assumed to be the ornament worn upon the 
helmet, indicative of the name or office of the bearer. 

2 A sign of dishonour, as here, or sometimes used to indicate a 
younger branch of the family. The coat of arms upon the shield was 
made to face in the opposite of the usual direction. 

3 Note the fantastic emphasis laid in mediaeval times upon one vir- 
tue at the expense of others. 

17 


258 


IVANHGE 


attempt to diminish by one step the distance now between 
us, thou shalt see that the Jewish maiden will rather trust 
her soul with God than her honour to the Templar! ” 

While Rebecca spoke thus, her high and firm resolve, 
which corresponded so well with the expressive beauty of 
her countenance, gave to her looks, air, and manner a dig- 
nity that seemed more than mortal. Her glance quailed 
not, her cheek blanched not, for the fear of a fate so instant 
and so horrible; on the contrary, the thought that she had 
her fate at her command, and could escape at will from 
infamy to death, gave a yet deeper colour of carnation to 
her complexion, and a yet more brilliant fire to her eye. 
Bois-Guilbert, proud himself and high-spirited, thought he 
had never beheld beauty so animated and so commanding. 

“ Let there be peace between us, Rebecca,” he said. 

“ Peace, if thou wilt,” answered Rebecca; “ peace — but 
with this space between.” 

“ Thou needst no longer fear me,” said Bois-Guilbert. 

“ I fear thee not,” replied she; “ thanks to him that 
reared this dizzy tower so high, that nought could fall from 
it and live — thanks to him, and to the God of Israel! — I 
fear thee not.” 

“ Thou dost me injustice,” said the Templar; “ by earth, 
sea, and sky, thou dost me injustice! I am not naturally 
that which you have seen me — hard, selfish, and relentless. 
It was woman that taught me cruelty, and on woman there- 
fore I have exercised it; but not upon such as thou. Hear 
me, Rebecca! Never did knight take lance in his hand with 
a heart more devoted to the lady of his love than Brian de 
Bois-Guilbert. She, the daughter of a petty baron, who 
boasted for all his domains but a ruinous tower and an 
unproductive vineyard, and some few leagues of the barren 
Landes 1 of Bordeaux, her name was known wherever deeds 
of arms were done, known wider than that of many a lady’s 
that had a county for a dowery. — Yes,” he continued, pac- 
ing up and down the little platform, with an animation in 
which he seemed to lose all consciousness of Rebecca’s pres- 
ence — “yes, my deeds, my danger, my blood, made the 
name of Adelaide de Montemare known from the court of 
Castile 2 to that of Byzantium . 2 And how was I requited? 

1 Waste, uncultivated districts. 

3 From Spain to Constantinople, 


IV AN IIO E 


250 


— W hen I returned with my dear-bought honours, pur- 
chased by toil and blood, I found her wedded to a Gascon 1 
squire, whose name was never heard beyond the limits of 
his own paltry domain! Truly did I love her, and bitterly 
did I revenge me of her broken faith! But my vengeance 
has recoiled on myself. Since that day I have separated 
myself from life and its ties: my manhood must know no 
domestic home, must be soothed by no affectionate wife — 
my age must know no kindly hearth — my grave must be 
solitary and no offspring must outlive me, to hear the 
ancient name of Bois-Guilbert. At the feet of my Superior 
I have laid down the right of self-action — the privilege of 
independence. The Templar, a serf in all but the name, 
can possess neither lands nor goods, and lives, moves, and 
breathes but at the will and pleasure of another/’ 

‘‘Alas!” said Rebecca, “ what advantages could com- 
pensate for such an absolute sacrifice ? ” 

“ The power of vengeance, Rebecca,” replied the Tem- 
plar, “ and the prospects of ambition.” 

“ An evil recompense,” said Rebecca, “ for the surrender 
of the rights which are dearest to humanity.” 

“ Say not so, maiden,” answered the Templar; “ revenge 
is a feast for the gods! And if they have reserved it, as 
priests tell us, to themselves, it is because they hold it an 
enjoyment too precious for the possession of mere mortals. 
— And ambition? it is a temptation which could disturb 
even the bliss of heaven itself.” — He paused a moment, and 
then added, “ Rebecca! she who could prefer death to dis- 
honour must have a proud and a powerful soul. Mine 
thou must he! — Nay, start not,” he added, “ it must he 
with thine own consent, and on thine own terms. Thou 
must consent to share with me hopes more extended than 
can he viewed from the throne of a monarch! — Hear me 
ere you answer, and judge ere you refuse. — The Templar 
loses, as thou hast said, his social rights, his power of free 
agency, hut he becomes a member and a limb of a mighty 
body, before which thrones already tremble, — even as the 
single drop of rain which mixes with the sea becomes an 
individual part of that resistless ocean which undermines 
rocks and ingulfs royal armadas. Such a swelling flood 
is that powerful league. Of this mighty Order I am no 
1 The inhabitants of Gascony had a reputation for boastfulness. 


260 


IVANIIOE 


mean member, but already one of the Chief Commanders, 
and may well aspire one day to hold the batoon 1 of Grand 
Master. The poor soldiers of the Temple will not alone 
place their foot upon the necks of kings — a hemp-sandalBd 
monk can do that. Our mailed step shall ascend their 
throne — our gauntlet shall wrench the sceptre from their 
gripe. Not the reign of your vainly expected Messiah offers 
such power to your dispersed tribes as my ambition may 
aim at. I have sought but a kindred spirit to share it, 
and I have found such in thee.” 

“ Sayest thou this to one of my people?” answered 
Rebecca. “ Bethink thee ” 

“ Answer me not,” said the Templar, “ by urging the 
difference of our creeds; within our secret conclaves 2 we 
hold these nursery tales in derision. Think not we long 
remained blind to the idiotical folly of our founders, who 
forswore every delight of life for the pleasure of dying 
martyrs by hunger, by thirst, and by pestilence, and by 
the swords of savages, while they vainly strove to defend 
a barren desert, valuable only in the eyes of superstition. 
Our Order soon adopted bolder and wider views, and found 
out a better indemnification for our sacrifices. Our im- 
mense possessions in every kingdom of Europe, our high 
military fame, which brings within our circle the flower of 
chivalry from every Christian clime — these are dedicated 
to ends of which our pious founders little dreamed, and 
which are equally concealed from such weak spirits as em- 
brace our Order on the ancient principles, and whose super- 
stition makes them our passive tools. But I will not 
further withdraw the veil of our mysteries. That bugle- 
sound 3 announces something which may require my pres- 
ence. Think on what I have said. — Farewell! — I do not 
say, forgive me the violence I have threatened, for it was 
necessary to the display of thy character. Gold can be only 
known by the application of the touchstone. I will soon 
return, and hold further conference with thee.” 

He re-entered the turret-chamber, and descended the 
stair, leaving Rebecca scarcely more terrified at the prospect 
of the death to which she had been so lately exposed than 

1 Baton. 

2 See the art icle “ Templars ” in the Encyclopedia Eritannica. 

8 Notice tho close of the three preceding chapters. 


I VANIK) E 


261 


at the furious ambition of the bold bad man in whose power 
she found herself so unhappily placed. When she entered 
the turret-chamber, her first duty was to return thanks to 
the God of Jacob for the protection which he had afforded 
her, and to implore its continuance for her and for her 
father. Another name glided into her petition — it was 
that of the wounded Christian whom fate had placed in 
the hands of bloodthirsty men, his avowed enemies. Her 
heart indeed checked her, as if, even in communing with 
the Deity in prayer, she mingled in her devotions the 
recollection of one with whose fate hers could have no 
alliance — a Nazarene, and an enemy to her faith. But the 
petition was already breathed, nor could all the narrow 
prejudices of her sect induce Rebecca to wish it recalled. 

[Notice the similarity in the construction of the last four chapters. 
In each a scene involving two persons (Cedric and Athelstane, Isaac 
and Front-de-Bceuf, Rowena and De Bracy, Rebecca and the 
Templar) is interrupted by the “blowing of the horn” outside the 
castle. Do you think that this scheme, of following the fortunes of 
the different groups up to an incident that affects them all, could be 
bettered? Why is the scene between Rebecca and the Templar the 
climax of the four? By what means is the contrast in character 
between Rebecca and Rowena most effectively shown? In the 
Templar’s story of his own life, do you find any traces of the 
conventional Byronic hero?] 


CHAPTER XXV 


A damn’d cramp piece of penmanship as ever I saw in my life ! 

She Stoops to Conquer. 

When the Templar reached the hall of the castle, he 
found De Bracy already there. “ Your love-suit,” said De 
Bracy, “ hath, I suppose, been disturbed, like mine, by 
this obstreperous summons. But you have come later and 
more reluctantly, and therefore I presume your interview 
has proved more agreeable than mine.” 

“ Has your suit, then, been unsuccessfully paid to the 
Saxon heiress? ” said the Templar. 

“ By the hones of Thomas a Beeket,” answered De Bracy, 
“ the Lady Rowena must have heard that I cannot endure 
the sight of women’s tears.” 

“ Away! ” said the Templar; “ thou a leader of a Free 
Company, and regard a woman’s tears! A few drops, 
sprinkled on the torch of love, make the flame blaze the 
brighter.” 

“ Gramercy for the few drops of thy sprinkling,” replied 
De Bracy; “but this damsel hath wept enough to extinguish 
a beacon-light. Xever was such wringing of hands and 
such overflowing of eyes since the days of St. Niobe , 1 of 
whom Prior Aymer told us.* A water-fiend hath possessed 
the fair Saxon.” 

“ A legion of fiends have occupied the bosom of the 
Jewess,” replied the Templar; “ for I think no single one, 
not even Apollyon 2 himself, could have inspired such in- 
domitable pride and resolution. — But where is Front-de- 

* I wish the Prior had also informed them when Niobe was sainted. 
Probably during that enlightened period when 

“ Pan to Moses lent his pagan horn.” 

— L. T. [Scott.] 

1 The daughter of Tantalus, whose children were slain before her 
eyes by Apollo and Artemis. She became the type of extreme grief. 

2 The angel of the bottomless pit ( Revelation ix. 2). He is intro- 
duced by Bunyan in The Pilgrim’s Progress. 


IVANHOE 


263 


Boeuf? That horn is sounded more and more clamor- 
ously.” 

“ He is negotiating with the Jew, I suppose,” replied 
De Bracy, coolly; “ probably the howls of Isaac have 
drowned the blast of the bugle. Thou mayst know by 
experience, Sir Brian, that a Jew, parting with his treasures 
on such terms as our friend Front-de-Bceuf is like to oifer, 
will raise a clamour loud enough to he heard over twenty 
horns and trumpets to boot. But we will make the vassals 1 
call him.” 

They were soon after joined by Front-de-Boeuf, who had 
been disturbed in his tyrannic cruelty in the manner with 
which the reader is acquainted, and had only tarried to 
give some necessary directions. 

“ Let us see the cause of this cursed clamour,” said 
Front-de-Boeuf — “ here is a letter, and, if I mistake not, it 
is in Saxon.” 

He looked at it, turning it round and round as if he had 
had really some hopes of coming at the meaning by invert- 
ing the position of the paper, and then handed it to De 
Bracy. 

“ It may he magic spells for aught I know,” said De 
Bracy, who possessed his full proportion of the ignorance 
which characterised the chivalry of the period. “ Our 
chaplain attempted to teach me to write,” he said, “ hut all 
my letters were formed like spear-heads and sword-blades, 
and so the old shaveling gave up the task.” 

“ Give it me,” said the Templar. “ We have that of the 
priestly character, that we have some knowledge to en- 
lighten our valour.” 

“ Let us profit by your most reverend knowledge, then,” 
said De Bracy; “ what says the scroll 2 ? ” 

“ It is a formal letter of defiance,” answered the Tem- 
plar; “but, by our Lady of Bethlehem , 3 if it be not a foolish 
jest, it is the most extraordinary cartel 4 that ever was sent 
across the drawbridge of a baronial castle.” 

“ Jest! ” said Front-de-Boeuf, “ I would gladly know who 
dares jest with me in such a matter! — Read it, Sir Brian.” 

The Templar accordingly read it as follows: — 

“I, Wamba, the son of Witless, Jester to a noble and 

1 Feudal retainers ; servants. “Writing. 

3 The Virgin Mary. 4 Formal challenge. 


IVANIIOE 


2C4 


free-born man, Cedric of Rotherwood, called the Saxon, — 
And I, Gurth, the son of Beowulph, the swineherd ” 

“ Thou art mad,” said Front-de-Bceuf, interrupting the 
reader. 

“ By St. Luke, it is so set down,” answered the Templar. 
Then resuming his task, he went on, — “ I, Gurth, the son 
of Beowulph, swineherd unto the said Cedric, with the 
assistance of our allies and confederates, who make common 
cause with us in this our feud, namely, the good knight, 
called for the present Le Noir Faineant, and the stout yeo- 
man, Robert Locksley, called Cleave-the-wand, do you, 
Reginald Front-de-Bceuf, and your allies and accomplices 
whomsoever, to wit, that whereas you have, without cause 
given or feud declared, wrongfully and by mastery seized 
upon the person of our lord and master the said Cedric; also 
upon the person of a noble and freeborn damsel, the Lady 
Rowena of Hargottstandstede; also upon the person of a 
noble and freeborn man, Athelstane of Coningsburgh; also 
upon the persons of certain freeborn men, their cniclits; 
also upon certain serfs, their born bondsmen; also upon a 
certain Jew, named Isaac of York, together with his 
daughter, a Jewess, and certain horses and mules: Which 
noble persons, with their cniclits and slaves, and also with 
the horses and mules, Jew and Jewess beforesaid, were all 
in peace with his majesty, and travelling as liege subjects 
upon the king’s highway; therefore we require and demand 
that the said noble persons, namely, Cedric of Rotlierwood, 
Rowena of Hargottstandstede, Athelstane of Coningsburgh, 
with their servants, cniclits, and followers, also the horses 
and mules, Jew and Jewess aforesaid, together with all 
goods and chattels to them pertaining, be, within an hour 
after the delivery hereof, delivered to us, or to those whom 
we shall appoint to receive the same, and that untouched 
and unharmed in body and goods. Failing of which, we 
do pronounce to you, that we hold ye as robbers and 
traitors, and will wager our bodies against ye in battle, 
siege, or otherwise, and do our utmost to your annoyance 
and destruction. Wherefore may God have you in his 
keeping. — Signed by us upon the eve of St. Withold’s day, 
under the great trysting oak in the Hart-hill Walk, the 
above being written by a holy man, Clerk to God, our Lady, 
and St. Dunstan, in the Chapel of Copmanhurst.” 


IVANIIOE 


265 


At the bottom of this document was scrawled, in the 
first place, a rude sketch of a cock’s head and comb, with 
a legend expressing this hieroglyphic to be the sign- 
manual of Wamba, son of Witless. Under this respectable 
emblem stood a cross, stated to be the mark of Gurth, the 
son of Beowulph. Then was written, in rough bold char- 
acters, the words, Le Noir Faineant. And, to conclude the 
whole, an arrow, neatly enough drawn, was described as the 
mark of the yeoman Locksley. 

The knights heard this uncommon document read from 
end to end, and then gazed upon each other in silent amaze- 
ment, as being utterly at a loss to know what it could por- 
tend. De Bracy w r as the first to break silence by an uncon- 
trollable fit of laughter, wherein he was joined, though with 
more moderation, by the Templar. Front-de-Bceuf, on the 
contrary, seemed impatient of their ill-timed jocularity. 

“ I give you plain warning,” he said, “ fair sirs, that you 
had better consult how to bear yourselves under these cir- 
cumstances, than give way to such misplaced merriment.” 

“ Front-de-Bceuf has not recovered his temper since his 
late overthrow,” said De Bracy to the Templar; “ he is 
cowed at the very idea of a cartel, though it come but from 
a fool and a swineherd.” 

“ By St. Michael,” answered Front-de-Boeuf, “ I would 
thou couldst stand the whole brunt of this adventure thy- 
self, De Bracy. These fellows dared not have acted with 
such inconceivable impudence, had they not been supported 
by some strong bands. There are enough of outlaws in this 
forest to resent my protecting the deer. I did but tie one 
fellow, who was taken redhanded and in the fact , 1 to the 
horns of a wild stag, which gored him to death in five 
minutes, and I had as many arrows shot at me as there were 
launched against yonder target at Ashby. — Here, fellow,” 
he added, to one of his attendants, “ hast thou sent out to 
see by what force this precious challenge is to be sup- 
ported? ” 

“ There are at least two hundred men assembled in the 
woods,” answered a squire who was in attendance. 

“ Here is a proper matter 2 ! ” said Front-de-Boeuf, “ this 
conies of lending you the use of my castle, that cannot 

1 In the act. 

2 A fine state of things ! 


2G6 


IVANIIOE 


manage your undertaking quietly, but you must bring this 
nest of hornets about my ears! ” 

“ Of hornets?” said De Bracy; “ of stingless drones 
rather; a band of lazy knaves, who take to the wood, and 
destroy the venison rather than labour for their main- 
tenance.” 

“ Stingless ! 99 replied Front-de-Bceuf; “ fork-headed 
shafts of a cloth-yard in length, and these shot within the 
breadth of a French crown , 1 are sting enough.” 

“For shame, Sir Knight! ” said the Templar. “ Let us 
summon our people, and sally forth upon them. One 
knight — ay, one man-at-arms, were enough for twenty such 
peasants.” 

“ Enough, and too much,” said De Bracy; “ I should 
only be ashamed to couch lance against them.” 

“ True,” answered Front-de-Bceuf; “ were they black 
Turks or Moors, Sir Templar, or the craven peasants of 
France, most valiant De Bracy; but these are English yeo- 
men, over whom we shall have no advantage, save what we 
may derive from our arms and horses, which will avail us 
little in the glades of the forest. Sally, saidst thou? we 
have scarce men enough to defend the castle. The best 
of mine are ait York; so is all your band, De Bracy; and we 
have scarcely twenty, besides the handful that were en- 
gaged in this mad business.” 

“ Thou dost not fear,” said the Templar, “ that they can 
assemble in force sufficient to attempt the castle? 99 

“ Not so, Sir Brian,” answered Front-de-Boeuf . “ These 

outlaws have indeed a daring captain; but without 
machines, scaling ladders, and experienced leaders, my 
castle may defy them.” 

“ Send to thy neighbours,” said the Templar, “ let them 
assemble their people, and come to the rescue of three 
knights, besieged by a jester and a swineherd in the baronial 
castle of Reginald Front-de-Boeuf ! 99 

“You jest, Sir Knight,” answered the baron; “but to 
whom should I send? — Malvoisin is by this time at York 
with his retainers, and so are my other allies; and so should 
I have been, but for this infernal enterprise.” 

“ Then send to York, and recall our people,” said De 
Bracy. “ If they abide the shaking of my standard, or the 

1 A small French gold-piece. 


IV AN HOE 


267 


sight of my Free Companions, I will give them credit for 
the boldest outlaws ever bent how in green-wood.” 

“ And who shall bear such a message?” said Front-de- 
Boeuf ; “ they will beset every path, and rip the errand out 
of his bosom. — I have it,” he added, after pausing for a 
moment — “ Sir Templar, thou canst write as well as read, 
and if we can hut find the writing materials of my chaplain, 
who died a twelvemonth since in the midst of his Christ- 
mas carousals ” 

“ So please ye,” said the squire, who was still in atten- 
dance, “ I think old Urfried has them somewhere in keep- 
ing, for love of the confessor. He was the last man, I have 
heard her tell, who ever said aught to her, which man ought 
in courtesy to address to maid or matron.” 

“ Go, search them out, Engelred,” said Front-de-Boeuf; 
“and then, Sir Templar, thou shalt return an answer to 
this bold challenge.” 

“ I would rather do it at the sword’s point than at that 
of the pen,” said Bois-Guilbert; “ but he it as you will.” 

He sat down accordingly, and indited, in the French 
language, an epistle of the following tenor: — 

“ Sir Reginald Front-de-Boeuf, with his noble and 
knightly allies and confederates, receive no defiances at the 
hands of slaves, bondsmen, or fugitives. If the person 
calling himself the Black Ivnight have indeed a claim to the 
honours of chivalry, he ought to know that he stands de- 
graded by his present association, and has no right to ask 
reckoning at the hands of good men of noble blood. 
Touching the prisoners we have made, we do in Christian 
charity require you to send a man of religion, to receive 
their confession, and reconcile them with God; since it is 
our fixed intention to execute them this morning before 
noon, so that their heads, being placed on the battlements, 
shall show to all men how lightly we esteem those who 
have bestirred themselves in their rescue. Wherefore, 
as above, we require you to send a priest to reconcile them 
to God, in doing which you shall render them the last 
earthly service.” 

This letter being folded, was delivered to the squire, and 
by him to the messenger who waited without, as the answer 
to that which he had brought. 

The yeoman, having thus accomplished his mission, re- 


2G8 


IVANHOE 


turned to the head-quarters of the allies, which were for the 
present established under a venerable oak-tree, about three 
arrow-flights distant from the castle. Here Wamba and 
Gurth, with their allies the Black Knight and Locksley, 
and the jovial hermit, awaited with impatience an answer 
to their summons. Around, and at a distance from them, 
were seen many a hold yeoman, whose silvan dress and 
weatherbeaten countenances showed the ordinary nature of 
their occupation. More than two hundred had already as- 
sembled, and others w r ere fast coming in. Those whom 
they obeyed as leaders were only distinguished from the 
others by a feather in the cap, their dress, arms, and equip- 
ments being in all other respects the same. 

Besides these hands, a less orderly and a worse armed 
force, consisting of the Saxon inhabitants of the neighbour- 
ing township, as well as many bondsmen and servants from 
Cedric’s extensive estate, had already arrived, for the pur- 
pose of assisting in his rescue. Fe>v of these were armed 
otherwise than with such rustic weapons as necessity some- 
times converts to military purposes. Boar-spears, scythes, 
flails, and the like, were their chief arms; for the Normans, 
with the usual policy of conquerors, were jealous of per- 
mitting to the vanquished Saxons the possession or the use 
of swords and spears. These circumstances rendered the 
assistance of the Saxons far from being so formidable to 
the besieged, as the strength of the men themselves, their 
superior numbers, and the animation inspired by a just 
cause, might otherwise well have made them. It was to the 
leaders of this motley army that the letter of the Templar 
was now delivered. 

Reference was at first mad*e to the chaplain for an ex- 
position of its contents. 

“ By the crook 1 of St. Dunstan,” said that worthy 
ecclesiastic, “ which hath brought more sheep within the 
sheepfold than the crook of e’er another saint in Paradise, 
I swear that I cannot expound unto you this jargon, which, 
whether it be French or Arabic, is beyond my guess.” 

He then gave the letter to Gurth, who shook his head 
gruffly, and passed it to Wamba. The Jester looked at 
each of the four corners of the paper with such a grin of 
affected intelligence as a monkey is apt to assume upon 

1 Shepherd’s staff ; the emblem of a bishop. 


IV AN HOE 


2G9 


similar occasions, then cut a caper, and gave the letter to 
Locksley. 

"If the long letters were bows, and the short letters 
broad arrows, I might know something of the matter,” said 
the brave yeoman; “ but as the matter stands, the meaning 
is as safe, for me, as the stag that’s at twelve miles dis- 
tance.” 

" I must be clerk, then,” said the Black Ivnight; and 
taking the letter from Locksley, he first read it over to 
himself, and then explained the meaning in Saxon to his 
confederates. 

“Execute the noble Cedric!” exclaimed Wamba; “by 
the rood, thou must be mistaken, Sir Knight.” 

“ Not I, my worthy friend,” replied the knight, “ I have 
explained the words as they are here set down.” 

“ Then, by St. Thomas of Canterbury,” replied Gurth, 
“ we will have the castle, should we tear it down with our 
hands! ” 

“We have nothing else to tear it with,” replied Wamba; 
“ but mine are scarce fit to make mammocks 1 of freestone 
and mortar.” 

“ ’Tis but a contrivance to gain time,” said Locksley; 
“ they dare not do a deed for which I could exact a fearful 
penalty.” 

“ I would,” said the Black Knight, “ there were some 
one among us who could obtain admission into the castle, 
and discover how the case stands with the besieged. Me- 
thinks, as they require a confessor to be sent, this holy 
hermit might at once exercise his pious vocation, and pro- 
cure us the information we desire.” 

“A plague on thee, and thy advice!” said the pious 
hermit; “ I tell thee, Sir Slothful Knight, that when I doff 
my friar’s frock, my priesthood, my sanctity, my very Latin, 
are put off along with it; and when in my green jerkin, I 
can better kill twenty deer than confess one Christian.” 

“ I fear,” said the Black Knight, “ I fear greatly, there 
is no one here that is qualified to take upon him, for the 
nonce , 2 this same character of father confessor? ” 

All looked on each other, and were silent. 

“ I see,” said Wamba, after a short pause, “ that the fool 
must be still the fool, and put his neck in the venture 

1 Fragments. 2 For the moment. 


270 


IVANHOE 


which wise men shrink from. You must know, my dear 
cousins and countrymen, that I wore russet before I wore 
motley, and was bred to be a friar, until a brain fever came 
upon me and left me just wit enough to be a fool. I trust, 
with the assistance of the good hermit’s frock, together 
with the priesthood, sanctity, and learning which are 
stitched into the cowl of it, I shall be found qualified to 
administer both worldly and ghostly 1 comfort to our 
worthy master Cedric and his companions in adversity.” 

“Hath he sense enough, thinkst thou?” said the Black 
Knight, addressing Gurth. 

“ I know not,” said Gurth; “ hut if he hath not, it will 
be the first time he hath wanted wit to turn his folly to 
account.” 

“ On with the frock, then, good fellow,” quoth the 
Knight, “ and let thy master send us an account of their 
situation within the castle. Their numbers must he few, 
and it is five to one they may be accessible by a sudden and 
bold attack. Time wears — away with thee.” 

“ And, in the meantime,” said Locksley, “ we will beset 
the place so closely, that not so much as a fly shall carry 
news from thence. So that, my good friend,” he con- 
tinued, addressing Wamba, “ thou mayst assure these 
tyrants, that whatever violence they exercise on the persons 
of their prisoners shall he most severely repaid upon their 
own.” 

“ Pax vobiscum ,” 2 said Wamba, who was now muffled in 
his religious disguise. 

And so saying, he imitated the solemn and stately deport- 
ment of a friar, and departed to execute his mission. 

2 Peace be with you. 


1 Spiritual. 


CHAPTER XXYI 


The hottest horse will oft be cool, 

The dullest will show fire ; 

The friar will often play the fool, 

The fool will play the friar. 

Old Song . 

When the Jester, arrayed in the cowl and frock of the 
hermit, and having his knotted cord twisted round his 
middle, stood before the portal of the castle of Front-de- 
Boeuf, the warder demanded of him his name and errand. 

“ Pax vobiscum ,” answered the Jester, “ I am a poor 
brother of the Order of St. Francis , 1 who come hither to do 
my office to certain unhappy prisoners now secured within 
this castle.” 

“ Thou art a hold friar,” said the warder, “ to come 
hither, where, saving our own drunken confessor, a cock of 
thy feather hath not crowed these twenty years.” 

“ Yet, I pray thee, do mine errand to the lord of the 
castle,” answered the pretended friar; “ trust me, it will 
find good acceptance with him, and the cock shall crow 
that the whole castle shall hear him.” 

“ Gramercy,” said the warder; “ hut if I come to shame 
for leaving my post upon thine errand, I will try whether 
a friar’s grey gown be proof against a grey-goose shaft.” 

With this threat he left his turret, and carried to the 
hall of the castle his unwonted intelligence, that a holy 
friar stood before the gate and demanded instant admission. 
With no small wonder he received his master’s commands 
to admit the holy man immediately; and, having previously 
manned the entrance to guard against surprise, he obeyed, 
without further scruple, the commands which he had re- 
ceived. The harebrained self-conceit which had embold- 

1 A member of the order of Mendicant Friars (“Grey Friars”), 
named after St. Francis of Assisi (1182-1226). The order was not 
founded, in reality, until 1210, sixteen years later than the time 
of Ivanfioe. 


272 


IV AN HOE 


ened Wamba to undertake this dangerous office was scarce 
sufficient to support him when he found himself in the 
presence of a man so dreadful, and so much dreaded, as 
Reginald Front-de-B ceuf , and he brought out his pax vobis- 
cum, to which he, in a good measure, trusted for supporting 
his character, with more anxiety and hesitation than had 
hitherto accompanied it. But Front-de-Bceuf was accus- 
tomed to see men of all ranks tremble in his presence, so 
that the timidity of the supposed father did not give him 
any cause of suspicion. “ Who and whence art thou, 
priest? 77 said he. 

“ Pax vobiscum ” reiterated the Jester, “ I am a poor 
servant of St. Francis, who, travelling through this wilder- 
ness, have fallen among thieves, (as Scripture hath it,) qui- 
clam viator incidit in latrones , x which thieves have sent me 
unto this castle in order to do my ghostly office on two per- 
sons condemned by your honourable justice / 7 

“ Ay, right , 77 answered Front-de-Bceuf ; “ and ca-nst thou 
tell me, holy father, the number of those banditti? 77 

“ Gallant sir , 77 answered the J ester, “ nomen illis legio 1 2 
their name is legion . 77 

“ Tell me in plain terms what numbers there are, or, 
priest, thy cloak and cord will ill protect thee . 77 

“ Alas ! 77 said the supposed friar, “ cor meum eructavit , 3 
that is to say, I was like to burst with fear! but I conceive 
they may be — what of yeomen, what of commons — at least 
five hundred men . 77 

“ What ! 77 said the Templar, who came into the hall that 
moment, “muster the wasps so thick here? it is time to 
stifle such a mischievous brood . 77 Then taking Front-de- 
Bceuf aside, “ Knowest thou the priest ? 77 

“ He is a stranger from a distant convent , 77 said Front- 
de-Boeuf; “ I know him not . 77 

“ Then trust him not with thy purpose in words , 77 an- 
swered the Templar. “ Let him carry a written order to 
He Bracy’s company of Free Companions, to repair in- 
stantly to their master’s aid. In the meantime, and that 
the shaveling may suspect nothing, permit him to go freely 

1 Luke x. 30. 

2 31 ark v. 9. 

3 Psalms xlv. 1. “My heart is inditing a good matter.” (King 
James’s Version.) 


IV AN HOE 


273 


about his task of preparing these Saxon hogs for the 
slaughter-house.” 

“It shall be so,” said Front-de-Bceuf. And he forth- 
with appointed a domestic to conduct Wamba to the apart- 
ment where Cedric and Athelstane were confined. 

The impatience of Cedric had been rather enhanced 
than diminished by his confinement. He walked from 
one end of the hall to the other, with the attitude of one 
who advances to charge an enemy, or to storm the breach 
of a beleaguered place, sometimes ejaculating to himself, 
sometimes addressing Athelstane, who stoutly and stoic- 
ally awaited the issue of the adventure, digesting, in the 
meantime, with great composure, the liberal meal which 
he had made at noon, and not greatly interesting himself 
about the duration of his captivity, which, he concluded, 
would, like all earthly evils, find an end in Heaven’s good 
time. 

“ Pax vobiscum” said the Jester, entering the apartment; 
“ the blessing of St. Dunstan, St. Dennis , 1 St. Duthoc , 2 
and all other saints whatsoever, be upon ye and about ye.” 

“ Enter freely,” answered Cedric to the supposed friar; 
“with what intent art thou come hither?” 

“ To bid you prepare yourselves for death,” answered 
the Jester. 

“It is impossible!” replied Cedric, starting. “Fearless 
and wicked as they are, they dare not attempt such open 
and gratuitous cruelty! ” 

“Alas!” said the Jester, “to restrain them by their 
sense of humanity is the same as to stop a runaway horse 
with a bridle of silk thread. Bethink thee, therefore, 
noble Cedric, and you also, gallant Athelstane, what crimes 
you have committed in the flesh; for this very day will ye 
be called to answer at a higher tribunal.” 

“ Hearest thou this, Athelstane? ” said Cedric; “ we must 
rouse up our hearts to this last action, since better it is 
we should die like men than live like slaves.” 

“ I am ready,” answered Athelstane, “ to stand the worst 
of their malice, and shall walk to my death with as much 
composure as ever I did to my dinner.” 

1 The patron saint of Prance, martyred at Paris in the third century. 

2 There was a St. Duthak, Bishop of Ross in Scotland, who died 
in 1253. 


18 


274 


IV AN HOE 


“ Let us then unto our holy gear/ father/’ said Cedric. 

“ Wait yet a moment, good uncle/’ said the Jester, in 
his natural tone; “ better look long before you leap in the 
cicirk ^ 

“ By my faith/ 5 said Cedric, “ I should know that 
voice! 55 

“ It is that of your trusty slave and jester/' answered 
Wamba, throwing )3ack his cowl. “ Had you taken a fool’s 
advice formerly, you would not have been here at all. Take 
a foots advice now, and you will not be here long.” 

“How mean’s! thou, knave?” answered the Saxon. 

“ Even thus,” replied Wamba; “ take thou this frock and 
cord, which are all the orders 1 2 I ever had, and march 
quietly out of the castle, leaving me your cloak and girdle 
to take the long leap in thy stead.” 

“Leave thee in my stead!” said Cedric, astonished at 
the proposal; “ why, they would hang thee, my poor knave.” 

“ E’en let them do as they are permitted,” said Wamba; 
“ I trust — no disparagement to your birth — that the son 
of Witless may hang in a chain with as much gravity as the 
chain 3 hung upon his ancestor the alderman.” 

“ Well, Wamba,” answered Cedric, “ for one thing will I 
grant thy request. And that is, if thou wilt make the ex- 
change of garments with Lord Athelstane instead of me.” 

“No, by St. Dunstan,” answered Wamba; “there were 
little reason in that. Good right there is, that the son of 
Witless should suffer to save the son of Here ward; hut 
little wisdom there were in his dying for the benefit of one 
whose fathers were strangers to his.” 

* “ Villain,” said Cedric, “ the fathers of Athelstane were 
monarchs of England! ” 

“ They might he whomsoever they pleased,” replied 
Wamba; “ hut my neck stands too straight upon my shoul- 
ders to have it twisted for their sake. Wherefore, good my 
master, either take my proffer yourself, or suffer me to leave 
this dungeon as free as I entered.” 

“ Let the old tree wither,” continued Cedric, “ so the 
stately hope of the forest he preserved. Save the noble 

1 Preparation; business. 

2 That is, he had once assumed the gown of a friar, but had never 
taken the ordination vows. 

3 His badge of office. 


IV AN IIOE 


275 


Athelstane, my trusty Wamba! it is the duty of each who 
has Saxon blood in his veins. Thou and I will abide to- 
gether the utmost rage of our injurious oppressors, while 
he, free and safe, shall arouse the awakened spirits of our 
countrymen to avenge us.” 

u Not so, father Cedric,” said Athelstane, grasping his 
hand, — for, when roused to think or act, his deeds and 
sentiments were not unbecoming his high race — “not so,” 
he continued; “ I would rather remain in this hall a week 
without food save the prisoner’s stinted loaf, or drink save 
the prisoner’s measure of water, than embrace the oppor- 
tunity to escape which the slave’s untaught kindness has 
purveyed for his master.” 

“ You are called wise men, sirs,” said the Jester, “ and I 
a crazed fool; but, uncle Cedric, and cousin Athelstane, the 
fool shall decide this controversy for ye, and save ye the 
trouble of straining courtesies any farther. I am like 
John-a-Duck’s mare, that will let no man mount her but 
John-a-Duck. I came to save my master, and if he will 
not consent — basta 1 — I can but go away home again. 
Kind service cannot be chucked from hand to hand like a 
shuttlecock or stool-ball . 2 I’ll hang for no man but my 
own born master.” 

“ Go, then, noble Cedric,” said Athelstane, “ neglect not 
this opportunity. Your presence without may encourage 
friends to our rescue — your remaining here would ruin 
us all.” 

“ And is there any prospect, then, of rescue from with- 
out? ” said Cedric, looking to the Jester. 

“Prospect, indeed!” echoed Wamba; “let me tell you, 
when you fill my cloak, you are wrapped in a general’s 
cassock. Five hundred men are there without, and I was 
this morning one of the chief leaders. My fool’s cap was 
a casque, and my bauble a truncheon. Well, we shall see 
what good they will make by exchanging a fool for a wise 
man. Truly, I fear they will lose in valour what they may 
gain in discretion. And so farewell, master, and be kind to 
poor Gurth and his dog Fangs; and let my cockscomb hang 
in the hall at Kotherwood, in memory that I flung away my 
life for my master, like a faithful — fool.” 

1 Enough! — an Italian term used frequently by the old dramatists. 

2 An out-door game much like cricket, played by women. 


27G 


I V AN II OE 


The last word came out with a sort of double expression, 
betwixt jest and earnest. The tears stood in Cedric’s 
eyes. 

“ Thy memory shall be preserved,” he said, “ while fidel- 
ity and affection have honour upon earth! But that I trust 
I shall find the means of saving Rowena, and thee, Athel- 
stane, and thee, also, my poor Wamba, thou shouldst not 
overbear me in this matter.” 

The exchange of dress was now accomplished, when a 
sudden doubt struck Cedric. 

“ I know no language,” he said, “ but my own, and a few 
words of their mincing 1 Norman. How shall I bear my- 
self like a reverend brother? ” 

“ The spell lies in two words,” replied Wamba — “ Pax 
vobiscum will answer all queries. If you go or come, eat 
or drink, bless or ban, Pax vobiscum carries you through it 
all. It is as useful to a friar as a broomstick to a witch, 
or a wand to a conjurer. Speak it but thus, in a deep grave 
tone, — Pax vobiscum! — it is irresistible: watch and ward, 
knight and squire, foot and horse, it acts as a charm upon 
them all. I think, if they bring me out to be hanged to- 
morrow, as is much to be doubted they may, I will try its 
weight upon the finisher of the sentence.” 

“ If such prove the case,” said the master, “ my religious 
orders are soon taken — Pax vobiscum. I trust I shall re- 
member the pass-word. — Noble Athelstane, farewell; and 
farewell, my poor boy, whose heart might make amends for 
a weaker head — I will save you, or return and die with you. 
The royal blood of our Saxon kings shall not be spilt while 
mine beats in my veins; nor shall one hair fall from the 
head of the kind knave who risked himself for his master, 
if Cedric’s peril can prevent it. — Farewell.” 

“ Farewell, noble Cedric,” said Athelstane; “ remember 
it is the true part of a friar to accept refreshment, if you 
are offered any.” 

“Farewell, uncle,” added Wamba; “and remember Pax 
vobiscum .” 

Thus exhorted, Cedric sallied forth upon his expedition; 
and it was not long ere he had occasion to try the force of 
that spell which his Jester had recommended as omni- 
potent. In a low-arched and dusky passage, by which he 

1 Affected. 


IVANIIOE 


277 


endeavoured to work his way to the hall of the castle, he 
was interrupted by a female form. 

u Pax vobiscum /” said the pseudo-friar, and was en- 
deavouring to hurry past, when a soft voice replied, “ Et 
vobis — quceso, domine reverendissime, pro misericordia 
vestra.” 1 

“ I am somewhat deaf,” replied Cedric, in good Saxon, 
and at the same time muttered to himself, “ A curse on 
the fool and his Pax vobiscum! I have lost my javelin 
at the first cast.” 

It was, however, no unusual thing for a priest of those 
days to be deaf of his Latin ear, and this the person who 
now addressed Cedric knew full well. 

“ I pray you of dear love, reverend father,” she replied 
in his own language, “ that you will deign to visit with 
your ghostly comfort a wounded prisoner of this castle, and 
have such compassion upon him and us as thy holy office 
teaches. Never shall good deed so highly advantage thy 
convent.” 

“ Daughter,” answered Cedric, much embarrassed, “ my 
time in this castle will not permit me to exercise the duties 
of mine office — I must presently forth — there is life and 
death upon my speed.” 

“ Yet, father, let me entreat you by the vow you have 
taken on you,” replied the suppliant, “ not to leave the 
oppressed and endangered without counsel or succour.” 

“ May the fiend fly away with me, and leave me in Ifrin 2 
with the souls of Odin 3 and of Thor 3 ! ” answered Cedric 
impatiently, and would probably have proceeded in the 
same tone of total departure from his spiritual character, 
when the colloquy was interrupted by the harsh voice of 
Urfried, the old crone of the turret. 

“ How, minion,” said she to the female speaker, “ is this 
the manner in which you requite the kindness which per- 
mitted thee to leave thy prison-cell yonder? — Puttest thou 
the reverend man to use ungracious language to free him- 
self from the importunities of a Jewess? ” 

“A Jewess!” said Cedric, availing himself of the in- 

1 “ And with you. I pray, most reverend father, for your pity.” 

3 Infern, the Saxon hell. 

3 In Norse mythology, Thor was the son of Odin, the champion of 
the gods against their foes. 


278 


IVANHOE 


formation to get clear of their interruption. “ Let me pass, 
woman! stop me not at yonr peril. I am fresh from my 
holy office, and would avoid pollution.” 

“ Come this way, father,” said the old hag; “ thou art a 
stranger in this castle, and canst not leave it without a 
guide. Come hither, for I would speak with thee. — And 
you, daughter of an accursed race, go to the sick man’s 
chamber, and tend him until my return; and woe betide 
you if you again quit it without my permission! ” 

Eebecca retreated. Her importunities had prevailed 
upon L T rfried to suffer her to quit the turret, and Urfried 
had employed her services where she herself would most 
gladly have paid them, by the bedside of the wounded 
Ivanhoe. With an understanding awake to their dangerous 
situation, and prompt to avail herself of each means of 
safety which occurred, Rebecca had hoped something from 
the presence of a man of religion, who, she learned from 
Urfried, had penetrated into this godless castle. She 
watched the return of the supposed ecclesiastic, with the 
purpose of addressing him, and interesting him in favour 
of the prisoners; with what imperfect success the reader 
has been just acquainted. 

[In this chapter, as in the preceding one, observe what is gained 
by shifting the emphasis so that it falls, for a while, upon the minor 
characters. Is Scott altogether consistent in the motives he assigns 
for Wamba’s conduct? What means are used to heighten our respect 
for the moral cpialities of Warnba, Cedric, and Athelstane, in turn? 
Notice how the disguises furnish a new set of interests, and serve as 
an interlude between the more dramatic portions of the action.] 


CHAPTER XXVII 


Fond wretch ! and what canst thou relate, 

But deeds of sorrow, shame, and sin ? 

Thy deeds are proved — thou know’st thy fate ; 

But come, thy tale — begin — begin. 
***** * 

But I have griefs of other kind, 

Troubles and sorrows more severe ; 

Give me to ease my tortured mind, 

Lend to my woes a patient ear ; 

And let me, if I may not find 
A friend to help — find one to hear. 

Crabbe’s Hall of Justice. 

When Urfried had with clamours and menaces driven 
Eehecca hack to the apartment from which she had sallied, 
she proceeded to conduct the unwilling Cedric into a small 
apartment, the door of which she heedfully secured. Then 
fetching from a cupboard a stoup of wine and two flagons, 
she placed them on the table, and said in a tone rather 
asserting a fact than asking a question, “ Thou art Saxon, 
father. Deny it not,” she continued, observing that Cedric 
hastened not to reply; “ the sounds of my native language 
are sweet to mine ears, though seldom heard save from the 
tongues of the wretched and degraded serfs on whom the 
proud Normans impose the meanest drudgery of this dwell- 
ing. Thou art a Saxon, father — a Saxon, and, save as thou 
art a servant of God, a freeman. — Thine accents are sweet 
in mine ear.” 

“ Do not Saxon priests visit this castle, then ? ” replied 
Cedric; “ it were, methinks, their duty to comfort the 
outcast and oppressed children of the soil.” 

“ They come not — or if they come, they better love to 
revel at the boards of their conquerors,” answered Urfried, 
“ than to hear the groans of their countrymen — so, at least, 
report speaks of them — of myself I can say little. This 
castle, for ten years, has opened to no priest save the de- 


280 


IVANIIOE 


bauched Norman chaplain who partook the nightly revels 
of Front-de-Bceuf, and he has been long gone to render 
an account of his stewardship. — But thou aid a Saxon — a 
Saxon priest, and I have one question to ask of thee.” 

“ I am a Saxon,” answered Cedric, “ but unworthy, 
surely, of the name of priest. Let me begone on my way — 
I swear I will return, or send one of our fathers more 
worthy to hear your confession.” 

“ Stay yet a while,” said Urfried; “ the accents of the 
voice which thou hearest now will soon be choked with the 
cold earth, and I would not descend to it like the beast I 
have lived. But wine must give me strength to tell the 
horrors of my tale.” She poured out a cup, and drank 
it with a frightful avidity, which seemed desirous of drain- 
ing the last drop in the goblet. “ It stupifies,” she said, 
looking upwards as she finished her draught, “but it cannot 
cheer. Partake it, father, if you would hear my tale with- 
out sinking down upon the pavement.” Cedric would 
have avoided pledging her in this ominous conviviality, but 
the sign which she made to him expressed impatience and 
despair. He complied with her request, and answered her 
challenge in a large wine-cup; she then proceeded with her 
story, as if appeased by his complaisance. 

“ I was not born,” she said, “ father, the wretch that thou 
now seest me. I was free, was happy, was honoured, loved, 
and was beloved. I am now a slave, miserable and de- 
graded — the sport of my masters’ passions while I had yet 
beauty 1 — the object of their contempt, scorn, and hatred, 
since it has passed away. Dost thou wonder, father, that 
I should hate mankind, and, above all, the race that has 
wrought this change in me? Can the wrinkled, decrepit 
hag before thee, whose wrath must vent itself in impotent 
curses, forget she was once the daughter of the noble Thane 
of Torquilstone, before whose frown a thousand vassals 
trembled ? ” 

“ Thou the daughter of Torquil Wolf ganger! ” said 
Cedric, receding as he spoke; “ thou — thou — the daughter 
of that noble Saxon, my father’s 1 friend and companion 
in arms! ” 

“Thy father’s friend!” echoed Urfried; “then Cedric 

1 For the chronological blunder here, see the note in Chapter xxi 
on Torquil Wolfganger. 


1VAXI10E 


281 


called the Saxon stands before me, for the noble Hereward 
of Rotherwood had but one son, whose name is well known 
among his countrymen. But if thou art Cedric of Rother- 
wood, why this religious dress? — hast thou too despaired of 
saving thy country, and sought refuge from oppression in 
the shade of the convent ? ” 

“ It matters not who I am/’ said Cedric; “ proceed, un- 
happy woman, with thy tale of horror and guilt! — Guilt 
there must he — there is guilt even in thy living to tell it.” 

“ There is — there is,” answered the wretched woman, 
“ deep, black, damning guilt, — guilt, that lies like a load at 
my breast — guilt, that all the penitential fires of hereafter 1 
cannot cleanse. — Yes, in these halls, stained with the noble 
and pure blood of my father and my brethren — in these 
very halls, to have lived the paramour of their murderer, 
the slave at once and the partaker of his pleasures, was to 
render every breath which I drew of vital air, a crime and 
a curse.” 

“ Wretched woman!” exclaimed Cedric. “ And while 
the friends of thy father — while each true Saxon heart, as 
it breathed a requiem for his soul, and those of his valiant 
sons, forgot not in their prayers the murdered Ulrica — 
while all mourned and honoured the dead, thou hast lived 
to merit our hate and execration — lived to unite thyself 
with the vile tyrant who murdered thy nearest and dearest 
— who shed the blood of infancy rather than a male of the 
noble house of Torquil Wolf ganger should survive — with 
him hast thou lived to unite thyself, and in the bands of 
lawless love! ” 

“ In lawless hands, indeed, hut not in those of love!” 
answered the hag; “ love will sooner visit the regions of 
eternal doom than those unhallowed vaults. — No, with 
that at least I cannot reproach myself — hatred to Front-de- 
Bceuf and his race governed my soul most deeply, even in 
the hour of his guilty endearments.” 

“You hated him, and yet you lived,” replied Cedric; 
“ wretch ! was there no poniard — no knife — no bodkin ? — 
Well was it for thee, since thou didst prize such an exist- 
ence, that the secrets of a Norman castle are like those of 
the grave. For had I but dreamed of the daughter of 
Torquil living in foul communion with the murderer of her 

1 The fires of purgatory. 


282 


IV AN HOE 


father, the sword of a true Saxon had found thee out even 
in the arms of thy paramour! ” 

“ Wouldst thou indeed have done this justice to the name 
of Torquil?” said Ulrica, for we may now lay aside her 
assumed name of Urfried; “ thou art then the true Saxon 
report speaks thee! for even within these accursed walls, 
where, as thou well sayest, guilt shrouds itself in inscruta- 
ble mystery, even there has the name of Cedric been sounded 
— and I, wretched and degraded, have rejoiced to think 
that there yet breathed an avenger of our unhappy nation. 
— I also have had my hours of vengeance — I have fomented 
the quarrels of our foes, and heated drunken revelry into 
murderous broil — I have seen their blood flow — I have 
heard their dying groans! — Look on me, Cedric — are there 
not still left on this foul and faded face some traces of the 
features of Torquil? ” 

“ Ask me not of them, Ulrica,” replied Cedric, in a tone 
of grief mixed with abhorrence; “ these traces form such a 
resemblance as arises from the graves of the dead, when a 
fiend has animated the lifeless corpse.” 

“Be it so,” answered Ulrica; “yet wore these fiendish 
features the mask of a spirit of light when they were able 
to set at variance the elder Front-de-Boeuf and his son 
Reginald! The darkness of hell should hide what fol- 
lowed, hut revenge iflust lift the veil, and darkly intimate 
what it would raise the dead to speak aloud. Long had the 
smouldering fire of discord glowed between the tyrant 
father and his savage son — long had I nursed, in secret, 
the unnatural hatred — it blazed forth in an hour of 
drunken wassail, and at his own board fell my oppressor 
by the hand of his own son — such are the secrets these 
vaults conceal! — Rend asunder, ve accursed arches,” she 
added, looking up towards the roof, “ and bury in your 
fall all who are conscious of the hideous mystery! ” 

“ And thou, creature of guilt and misery,” said Cedric, 
“ what became thy lot on the death of thy ravisher? ” 

“ Guess it, hut ask it not. — Here — here I dwelt, till age, 
premature age, has stamped its ghastly features on my 
countenance — scorned and insulted where I was once 
obeyed, and compelled to hound the revenge which had 
once such ample scope to the efforts of petty malice of a 
discontented menial, or the vain or unheeded curses of an 


IV AN 110 E 


283 


impotent hag — condemned to hear from my lonely turret 
the sounds of revelry in which I once partook, or the 
shrieks and groans of new victims of oppression.” 

“ Ulrica,” said Cedric, “ with a heart which still, I fear, 
regrets the lost reward of thy crimes as much as the deeds 
by which thou didst acquire that meed, how didst thou dare 
to address thee to one who wears this robe? Consider, 
unhappy woman, what could the sainted Edward himself 
do for thee, were he here in bodily presence? The royal 
Confessor was endowed by Heaven with power to cleanse 
the ulcers of the body, but only God himself can cure the 
leprosy of the soul.” 

“ Yet, turn not from me, stern prophet of wrath,” she 
exclaimed, “ but tell me, if thou canst, in what shall 
terminate these new and awful feelings that hurst on my 
solitude. Why do deeds, long since done, rise before me 
in new and irresistible horrors? What fate is prepared 
beyond the grave for her to whom God has assigned on 
earth a lot of such unspeakable wretchedness? Better 
had I turn to Woden , 1 Hertha , 2 and Zernebock 3 — to Mista 4 
and to Skogula , 4 the gods of our yet unbaptized ancestors, 
than endure the dreadful anticipations which have of late 
haunted my waking and my sleeping hours! ” 

“ I am no priest,” said Cedric, turning with disgust from 
this miserable picture of guilt, wretchedness, and despair; 
“ I am no priest, though I wear a priest’s garment.” 

“ Priest or layman,” answered Ulrica, “ thou art the first 
I have seen for twenty years, by whom God was feared or 
man regarded; and dost thou hid me despair? ” 

“ I bid thee repent,” said Cedric. “ Seek to prayer and 
penance, and mayest thou find acceptance! But I cannot, 
I will not, longer abide with thee.” 

“ Stay yet a moment! ” said Ulrica; “ leave me not now, 
son of my father’s friend, lest the demon who has governed 
my life should tempt me to avenge myself of thy hard- 
hearted scorn. Thinkest thou, if Front-de-Bceuf found 
Cedric the Saxon in his castle, in such a disguise, that thy 

1 Another form of the name Odin. 

2 Nerthus, an Earth goddess mentioned by Tacitus as an object of 
worship among the Germans. 

3 See note in Chapter xxiv. 

4 Names of one of the battle maidens of the Norse mythology. 


284 


1VANH0E 


life would be a long one? — Already his eye has been upon 
thee like a falcon on his prey.” 

“ And be it so / 7 said Cedric; “ and let him tear me with 
beak and talons, ere my tongue say one word which my 
heart doth not warrant. I will die a Saxon — true in word, 
open in deed — I bid thee avaunt! — touch me not, stay me 
not! — The sight of Front-de-Bceuf himself is less odious to 
me than thou, degraded and degenerate as thou art . 77 

“ Be it so , 77 said Ulrica, no longer interrupting him; “ go 
thy way, and forget, in the insolence of thy superiority, that 
the wretch before thee is the daughter of thy father’s 
friend. — Go thy way — if I am separated from mankind by 
my sufferings — separated from those whose aid I might 
most justly expect — not less will I be separated from them 
in my revenge! — No man shall aid me, but the ears of all 
men shall tingle to hear of the deed which I shall dare to 
do! — Farewell! — thy scorn has burst the last tie which 
seemed yet to unite me to my kind — a thought that my 
woes might claim the compassion of my people . 77 

“ Ulrica , 77 said Cedric, softened by this appeal, “ hast 
thou borne up and endured to live through so much 
guilt and so much misery, and wilt thou now yield to 
despair when thine eyes are opened to thy crimes, and when 
repentance were thy fitter occupation? 77 

“ Cedric , 77 answered Ulrica, “ thou little knowest the 
human heart. To act as I have acted, to think as I have 
thought, requires the maddening love of pleasure, mingled 
with the keen appetite of revenge, the proud consciousness 
of power; draughts too intoxicating for the human heart to 
bear, and yet retain the power to prevent. Their force has 
long passed away. Age has no pleasures, wrinkles have no 
influence, revenge itself dies away in impotent curses. 
Then comes remorse, with all its vipers, mixed with vain 
regrets for the past, and despair for the future! — Then, 
when all other strong impulses have ceased, we become like 
the fiends in hell, who may feel remorse, but never repen- 
tance. — But thy words have awakened a new soul within 
me. Well hast thou said, all is possible for those who dare 
to die! — Thou hast shown me the means of revenge, and 
be assured I will embrace them. It has hitherto shared this 
wasted bosom with other and with rival passions — hence- 
forward it shall possess me wholly, and thou thyself shalt 


I VAN HOE 


285 


say that, whatever was the life of Ulrica, her death well 
became the daughter of the noble Torquil. There is a 
force without beleaguering this accursed castle — hasten to 
lead them to the attack, and when thou shalt see a red 
flag wave from the turret on the eastern angle of the don- 
jon, press the Normans hard — they will then have enough 
to do within, and you may win the wall in spite both of 
bow and mangonel. 1 — Begone, I pray thee — follow thine 
own fate, and leave me to mine.” 

Cedric would have enquired farther into the purpose 
which she thus darkly announced, hut the stern voice of 
Front-de-Boeuf was heard, exclaiming, “ Where tarries 
this loitering priest? By the scallop-shell 2 of Com- 
postella , 2 I will make a martyr of him, if he loiters here to 
hatch treason among my domestics! ” 

“ What a true prophet,” said Ulrica, “ is an evil con- 
science! But heed him not. Out and to thy people — cry 
your Saxon onslaught, and let them sing their war-song of 
Bollo , 3 if they will; vengeance shall hear a burden to it.” 

As she thus spoke, she vanished through a private door, 
and Reginald Front-de-Bceuf entered the apartment. 
Cedric, with some difficulty, compelled himself to make 
obeisance to the haughty Baron, who returned his courtesy 
with a slight inclination of the head. 

“ Thy penitents, father, have made a long shrift — it is 
the better for them, since it is the last they shall ever make. 
Hast thou prepared them for death ? ” 

“ I found them,” said Cedric, in such French as he could 
command, “ expecting the worst, from the moment they 
knew into whose power they had fallen.” 

“ How now, Sir Friar,” replied Front-de-Boeuf, “ thy 
speech, methinks, smacks of a Saxon tongue ? ” 

“ I was bred in the convent of St. Withold of Burton,” 
answered Cedric. 

“ Ay?” said the Baron; “it had been better for thee to 

J A machine for hurling stones. 

2 The badge of a pilgrim, and particularly of one to the shrine of 
St. James the Elder, at Compostella, in Spain. 

3 Rolf (Hrolf, Rou), a viking from Norway who became the first 
Duke of Normandy. He died about 930. The war-cry of the Nor- 
mans at the battle of Senlac, “ Ha Rou ! Ha Rou ! ” (Harrow ! 
Harrow !) is said to be an invocation of his name. See Tennyson’s 
Harold, Act v. 


286 


IVAN IIO E 


have been a Norman, and better for my purpose too; but 
need has no choice of messengers. That St. Withold’s of 
Burton is a howlet’s 1 nest worth the harrying. The day 
will soon come that the frock shall protect the Saxon as 
little as the mail-coat.” 

“ God’s will be done/’ said Cedric, in a voice tremulous 
with passion, which Front-de-Boeuf imputed to fear. 

“ 1 see,” said he, “ thou dreamest already that our men- 
at-arms are in thy refectory and thy ale-vaults. But do 
me one cast 2 of thy holy office, and, come what list of 
others, thou shalt sleep as safe in thy cell as a snail within 
his shell of proof.” 3 

“ Speak your commands,” said Cedric, with suppressed 
emotion. 

“ Follow me through this passage, then, that I may dis- 
miss thee by the postern.” 

And as he strode on his way before the supposed friar, 
Front-de-Boeuf thus schooled him in the part which he 
desired he should act. 

“ Thou seest, Sir Friar, yon herd of Saxon swine who 
have dared to environ this castle of Torquilstone. Tell 
them whatever thou hast a mind of the weakness of this 
fortalice, 4 or aught else that can detain them before it for 
twenty-four hours. Meantime bear thou this scroll — But 
soft — canst read. Sir Priest? ” 

“Not a jot I,” answered Cedric, “ save on my breviary; 
and then I know the characters, because I have the holy 
service by heart, praised be Our Lady and St. Withold! ” 

“ The fitter messenger for my purpose. — Carry thou this 
scroll to the castle of Philip de Malvoisin; say it cometh 
from me, and is written by the Templar Brian de Bois- 
Guilbert, and that I pray him to send it to York with all 
the speed man and horse can make. Meanwhile, tell him 
to doubt nothing, he shall find us whole and sound behind 
our battlement. Shame on it, that we should be compelled 
to hide thus by a pack of runagates, who are wont to fly 
even at the flash of our pennons and the tramp of our 
horses! I say to thee, priest, contrive some cast of thine 
art to keep the knaves where they are, until our friends 

1 Owl’s. 3 Service ; stroke ; trick. 

3 Of proved trustworthiness ; like “ armour of proof.” 

4 A small fort, or outwork of a fortification. 


IVANHOE 287 

bring up their lances. My vengeance is awake, and she is 
a falcon that slumbers not till she has been gorged.” 

“ By my patron saint,” said Cedric, with deeper energy 
than became his character, “ and by every saint who has 
lived and died in England, your commands shall be 
obeyed! Not a Saxon shall stir from before these walls, 
if I have art and influence to detain them there.” 

“ Ha! ” said Front-de-Bceuf, “ thou cliangest thy tone, 
Sir Priest, and speakest brief and bold, as if thy heart were 
in the slaughter of the Saxon herd; and yet thou art thy- 
self of kindred to the swine? ” 

Cedric was no ready practiser of the art of dissimulation, 
and would at this moment have been much the better of a 
hint from Wamba’s more fertile brain. But necessity, ac- 
cording to the ancient proverb, sharpens invention, and he 
muttered something under his cowl concerning the men in 
question being excommunicated outlaws both to church 
and to kingdom. 

“ Despardieux” answered Front-de-Bceuf, “thou hast 
spoken the very truth — I forgot that the knaves can strip 
a fat abbot as well as if they had been bom south of yonder 
salt channel. Was it not he of St. Ives 1 whom they tied 
to an oak-tree, and compelled to sing a mass while they 
were rifling his mails 2 and his wallets? — No, by Our Lady 
— that jest was played by Gualtier of Middleton, one of our 
own companions-at-arms. But they were Saxons who 
robbed the chapel at St. Bees 3 of cup, candlestick, and 
chalice, were they not ? ” 

“ They were godless men,” answered Cedric. 

“ Ay, and they drank out all the good wine and ale that 
lay in store for many a secret carousal, when ye pretend ye 
are but busied with vigils and primes! — Priest, thou art 
bound to revenge such sacrilege.” 

“ I am indeed bound to vengeance,” murmured Cedric; 
“ Saint Withold knows my heart.” 

Front-de-Bceuf, in the meanwhile, led the way to a 
postern, where, passing the moat on a single plank, they 
reached a small barbican, or exterior defence, which com- 
municated with the open field by a well-fortified sallyport . 4 

“ Begone, then; and if thou wilt do mine errand, and if 

1 A town in Huntingdonshire. 3 Saddle-bags. 

3 A village in the county of Cumberland. 4 Gate. 


288 


IVANHOE 


thou return hither when it is done, thou shalt see Saxon 
flesh cheap as ever was hog’s in the shambles 1 of Sheffield. 
And, hark thee, thou seemest to he a jolly confessor — come 
hither after the onslaught, and thou shalt have as much 
Malvoisie 2 as would drench thy whole convent.” 

“ Assuredly we shall meet again,” answered Cedric. 

“ Something in hand the whilst,” continued the Norman; 
and, as they parted at the postern door, he thrust into 
Cedric’s reluctant hand a gold byzant, adding, “ Remem- 
ber, I will flay off both cowl and skin, if thou failest in thy 
purpose.” 

“ And full leave will I give thee to do both,” answered 
Cedric, leaving the postern, and striding forth over the 
free field with a joyful step, “ if, when we meet next, I 
deserve not better at thine hand.” — Turning then hack 
towards the castle, he threw the piece of gold towards the 
donor, exclaiming at the same time, “ False Norman, thy 
money perish with thee! ” 

Front-de-Bceuf heard the words imperfectly, hut the 
action was suspicious. “ Archers,” he called to the warders 
on the outward battlements, “ send me an arrow through 
yon monk’s frock! — Yet stay,” he said, as his retainers were 
bending their bows, “ it avails not — we must thus far trust 
him since we have no better shift. I think he dares not 
betray me — at the worst I can but treat with these Saxon 
dogs whom I have safe in kennel. — Ho! Giles jailor, let 
them bring Cedric of Rotherwood before me, and the other 
churl, his companion — him I mean of Coningsburgh — 
Athelstane there, or what call they him? Their very names 
are an encumbrance to a Norman knight’s mouth, and have, 
as it were, a flavour of bacon. Give me a stoup of wine, as 
jolly Prince John said, that I may wash away the relish — 
place it in the armoury, and thither lead the prisoners.” 

His commands were obeyed; and, upon entering that 
Gothic 3 apartment, hung with many spoils won by his own 
valour and that of his father, he found a flagon of wine on 
the massive oaken table, and the two Saxon captives under 
the guard of four of his dependants. Front-de-Boeuf took 

1 Meat-stalls. 2 Malmsey, a kind of strong and sweet wine. 

3 The pointed style of architecture, generally prevalent from the 

middle of the twelfth century to the revival of classical models in the 
fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. 


IVANHOE 


289 


a long draught of wine, and then addressed his prisoners; — 
for the manner in which Wamba drew the cap over his 
face, the change of dress, the gloomy and broken light, and 
the Baron’s imperfect acquaintance with the features of 
Cedric, (who avoided his Norman neighbours, and seldom 
stirred beyond his own domains,) prevented him from dis- 
covering that the most important of his captives had made 
his escape. 

“ Gallants of England,” said Front-de-Boeuf, “ how 
relish ye your entertainment at Torquilstone? — Are ye 
yet aware what your surquedy and outrecuidance * merit, 
for scoffing at the entertainment of a prince of the House 
of Anjou? — Have ye forgotten how ye requited the unmer- 
ited hospitality of the royal John? By God and St. 
Dennis, an ye pay not the richer ransom, I will hang ye 
up by the feet from the iron bars of these windows, till the 
kites and hooded crows have made skeletons of you! — 
Speak out, ye Saxon dogs — what bid ye for your worthless 
lives? — How say you, you of Rotherwood? ” 

“ Not a doit 1 I,” answered poor Wamba — ■“ and for 
hanging up by the feet, my brain has been topsy-turvy, 
they say, ever since the biggin 2 was bound first round my 
head; so turning me upside down may peradventure restore 
it again.” 

“ Saint Genevieve 3 ! ” said Front-de-Boeuf, “ what have 
we got here ? ” 

And with the back of his hand he struck Cedric’s cap 
from the head of the Jester, and throwing open his collar, 
discovered the fatal badge of servitude, the silver collar 
round his neck. 

“ Giles — Clement — dogs and varlets! ” exclaimed the 
furious Norman, “what have you brought me here?” 

“ I think I can tell you,” said De Bracy, who just 
entered the apartment. “ This is Cedric’s clown, who 
fought so manful a skirmish with Isaac of York about a 
question of precedence.” 

“ I shall settle it for them both,” replied Front-de-Boeuf; 

* Surquedy and outrecuidance — insolence and presumption. 

[Scott.] 

1 A small Dutch coin, worth about half a farthing. 

2 The cap or covering for a child’s head. 

3 The patron saint of Paris, reputed to have saved the city from 
Attila by her prayers in 451 a.d. 

19 ' 


290 


IVANIIOE 


“ they shall hang on the same gallows, unless his master 
and this boar of Coningsburgh will pay well for their lives. 
Their wealth is the least they can surrender; they must 
also carry off with them the swarms that are besetting the 
castle, subscribe a surrender of their pretended immunities, 
and live under us as serfs and vassals; too happy if, in the 
new world that is about to begin, we leave them the breath 
of their nostrils. — Go / 5 said he to two of his attendants, 
“ fetch me the right Cedric hither, and I pardon your 
error for once; the rather that you but mistook a fool for a 
Saxon franklin / 5 

“ Ay, but / 5 said Wamba, “ your chivalrous excellency 
will find there are more fools than franklins among us . 55 

“ What means the knave? 55 said Front-de-Boeuf, looking 
towards his followers, who, lingering and loath, faltered 
forth their belief that, if this were not Cedric who was there 
in presence, they knew not what was become of him. 

“ Saints of Heaven ! 55 exclaimed De Braey, “he must 
have escaped in the monk’s garments ! 55 

“Fiends of hell ! 55 echoed Front-de-Bceuf, “it was then 
the boar of Botherwood whom I ushered to the postern, and 
dismissed with my own hands! — And thou , 55 he said to 
Wamba, “ whose folly could overreach the wisdom of idiots 
yet more gross than thyself — I will give thee holy orders — 
I will shave thy crown for thee! — Here, let them tear the 
scalp from his head, and then pitch him headlong from the 
battlements. Thy trade is to jest, canst thou jest now ? 55 

“You deal with me better than your word, noble knight , 55 
whimpered forth poor Wamba, whose habits of buffoonery 
were not to be overcome even by the immediate prospect of 
death; “ if you give me the red cap you propose, out of a 
simple monk you will make a cardinal . 55 

“ The poor wretch , 55 said De Braey, “ is resolved to die 
in his vocation. — Front-de-Boeuf, you shall not slay him. 
Give him to me to make sport for my Free Companions. — 
How sayst thou, knave? Wilt thou take heart of grace, 
and go to the wars with me? 55 

“Ay, with my master’s leave / 5 said Wamba; “for, look 
you, I must not slip collar ’’(and he touched that which he 
wore) “ without his permission . 55 

“ Oh, a Norman saw will soon cut a Saxon collar / 5 said 
De Braey. 


IVANIIOE 


291 


“ Ay, noble sir,” said Wamba, “ and thence goes the 
proverb — 

* Norman saw on English oak, 

On English neck a Norman Yoke ; 

Norman spoon in English dish, 

And England ruled as Normans wish ; 

Blithe world to England never will be more, 

Till England’s rid of all the four.’ ” 

“ Thou dost well, De Bracy,” said Front-de-Boeuf, “ to 
stand there listening to a fool’s jargon, when destruction 
is gaping for us! Seest thou not we are overreached, and 
that our proposed mode of communicating with our friends 
without has been disconcerted by this same motley gentle- 
man thou art so fond to brother? What views have we 
to expect but instant storm? ” 

“ To the battlements then,” said De Bracy; “ when didst 
thou ever see me the graver for the thoughts of battle ? Call 
the Templar yonder, and let him fight but half so well for 
his life as he has done for his Order — make thou to the walls 
thyself with thy huge body — let me do my poor endeavour 
in my own way, and I tell thee the Saxon outlaws may as 
well attempt to scale the clouds as the castle of Torquil- 
stone; or, if you will treat with the banditti, why not em- 
ploy the mediation of this worthy franklin, who seems in 
such deep contemplation of the wine-flagon? — Here, 
Saxon,” he continued, addressing Athelstane, and handing 
the cup to him, “ rinse thy throat with that noble liquor, 
and rouse up thy soul to say what thou wilt do for thy 
liberty.” 

“ What a man of mould 1 may,” answered Athelstane, 
“ providing it be what a man of manhood ought. — Dismiss 
me free, with my companions, and I will pay a ransom of 
a thousand marks.” 

“ And wilt moreover assure us the retreat of that scum of 
mankind who are swarming around the castle, contrary to 
God’s peace and the king’s? ” said Front-de-Bceuf. 

“ In so far as I can,” answered Athelstane, “ I will with- 
draw them; and I fear not but that my father Cedric will 
do his best to assist me.” 

(< We are agreed then,” said Front-de-Boeuf — <( thou and 
1 A man of form, character. Henry V , iii, 2, 23. 


292 


IVANHOE 


they are to be set at freedom, and peace is to he on both 
sides, for payment of a thousand marks. It is a trifling 
ransom, Saxon, and thou wilt owe gratitude to the modera- 
tion which accepts of it in exchange of your persons. But 
mark, this extends not to the J ew Isaac.” 

“Nor to the Jew Isaac’s daughter,” said the Templar, 
who had now joined them. 

“ Neither,” said Front-de-Bceuf, “ belong to this Saxon’s 
company.” 

“ I were unworthy to be called Christian, if they did,” 
replied Athelstane: “ deal with the unbelievers as ye list.” 

“ Neither does the ransom include the Lady Kowena,” 
said De Bracy. “ It shall never be said I was scared out 
of a fair prize without striking a blow for it.” 

“ Neither,” said Front-de-Bceuf, “ does our treaty refer 
to this wretched Jester, whom I retain, that I may make 
him an example to every knave who turns jest into earnest.” 

“ The Lady Bowena,” answered Athelstane, with the 
most steady countenance, “ is my affianced bride. I will 
be drawn by wild horses before I consent to part with her. 
The slave Wamba has this day saved the life of my father 
Cedric — I will lose mine ere a hair of his head be injured.” 

“ Thy affianced bride? — The Lady Bowena the affianced 
bride of a vassal like thee? ” said De Bracy; “ Saxon, thou 
dreamest that the days of thy seven kingdoms are returned 
again. I tell thee, the Princes of the House of Anjou con- 
fer not their wards on men of such lineage as thine.” 

“ My lineage, proud Norman,” replied Athelstane, “ is 
drawn from a source more pure and ancient than that of 
a beggarly Frenchman whose living is won by selling the 
blood of the thieves whom he assembles under his paltry 
standard. Kings were my ancestors, strong in war and 
wise in council, who every day feasted in their hall more 
hundreds than thou canst number individual followers; 
whose names have been sung by minstrels, and their laws 
recorded by Witenagemotes 1 ; whose bones were interred 
amid the prayers of saints, and over whose tombs ministers 
have been builded.” 

“ Thou hast it, De Bracy,” said Front-de-Boeuf, well 
pleased with the rebuff which his companion had received; 
“ the Saxon hath hit thee fairly.” 

1 The Council of the Wise Men, in Saxon times. 


IV AN I10E 


293 


“ As fairly as a captive can strike / 5 said De Bracy, with 
apparent carelessness; “ for he whose hands are tied should 
have his tongue at freedom. — But thy glibness of reply, 
comrade / 5 rejoined he, speaking to Athelstane, “ will not 
win the freedom of the Lady Rowena . 55 

To this Athelstane, who had already made a longer 
speech than was his custom to do on any topic, however 
interesting, returned no answer. The conversation was in- 
terrupted by the arrival of a menial, who announced that a 
monk demanded admittance at the postern gate. 

“ In the name of Saint Bennet , 1 2 the prince of these 
bull-beggars / 5 2 said Front-de-Boeuf, “ have we a real monk 
this time, or another impostor? Search him, slaves — for 
an ye suffer a second impostor to be palmed upon you, I 
will have your eyes torn out, and hot coals put into the 
sockets . 55 

“ Let me endure the extremity of your anger, my lord / 5 
said Giles, “ if this be not a real shaveling. Your squire 
Jocelyn knows him well, and will vouch him to be brother 
Ambrose, a monk in attendance upon the Prior of Jor- 
vaulx . 55 

“ Admit him / 5 said Front-de-Boeuf; “ most likely he 
brings us news from his jovial master. Surely the devil 
keeps holiday, and the priests are relieved from duty, that 
they are strolling thus wildly through the country. Re- 
move these prisoners; and, Saxon, think on what thou hast 
heard . 55 

“ I claim / 5 said Athelstane, “ an honourable imprison- 
ment, with due care of my board and of my couch, as be- 
comes my rank, and as is due to one who is in treaty for 
ransom. Moreover, I hold him that deems himself the best 
of you, bound to answer to me with his body for this ag- 
gression on my freedom. This defiance hath already been 
sent to thee by thy sewer; thou underliest 3 it, and art 
bound to answer me. There lies my glove . 55 

“ I answer not the challenge of my prisoner / 5 said Front- 
de-Boeuf; “ nor shaft thou, Maurice de Bracy. — Giles / 5 he 

1 St. Benedict (480-543) of Nursia, Italy, who founded the Order of 
the Benedictines at Monte Cassino in 529. 

2 A bull-beggar is defined as an object of needless fear ; a hobgob- 
lin. Scott seems to use it as an intensive for beggar. 

3 Thou art subject to it. 


294 


IVANHOE 


continued, “ hang the franklin’s glove upon the tine of 
yonder branched antlers: there shall it remain until he is a 
free man. Should he then presume to demand it, or to 
affirm he was unlawfully made my prisoner, by the belt of 
Saint Christopher , 1 2 he will speak to one who hath never 
refused to meet a foe on foot or on horseback, alone or 
with his vassals at his back! ” 

The Saxon prisoners were accordingly removed, just as 
they introduced the monk Ambrose, who appeared to be in 
great perturbation. 

“ This is the real Deus vobiscum ,” 2 said Wamba, as he 
passed the reverend brother; “ the others were but counter- 
feits.” 

“ Holy mother,” said the monk, as he addressed the as- 
sembled knights, “ I am at last safe and in Christian keep- 
ing! ” 

“ Safe thou art,” replied De Bracy; “ and for Chris- 
tianity, here is the stout Baron Reginald Front-de-Boeuf, 
whose utter abomination is a Jew; and the good Knight 
Templar, Brian de Bois-Guilbert, whose trade is to slay 
Saracens. If these are not good marks of Christianity, I 
know no other which they hear about them.” 

“Ye are friends and allies of our reverend father in 
God, Aymer, Prior of Jorvaulx,” said the monk, without 
noticing the tone of De Bracy’s reply; “ ye owe him aid 
both by knightly faith and holy charity; for what saith 
the blessed Saint Augustin , 3 4 in his treatise De Civitate 
Dei 3 >> 

“What saith the devil!” interrupted Front-de-Boeuf; 
“ or rather what dost tliou say, Sir Priest ? We have little 
time to hear texts from the holy fathers.” 

“ Sancta Maria 4 ! ” ejaculated Father Ambrose, “ how 
prompt to ire are these unhallowed laymen! — But he it 

1 The “ Christ-bearer,” a saint and martyr of the third century, 
who, according to legend, bore Christ in the form of a child across a 
stream. He was looked upon with especial reverence by the middle 
and lower classes. See Chaucer’s Prologue, 1. 115. 

2 “ God be with you ” ; i.e., the real monk. 

3 The celebrated father of the Latin Church (354-430), for thirty- 
five years Bishop of Hippo in Northern Africa. His most famous 
work, except the Confessions, is De Civitate Dei (“Of the City of 
God ”). 

4 Holy Mary ! 


IVANHOE 


295 


known to you, brave knights, that certain murderous 
caitiffs , 1 casting behind them fear of God, and reverence 
of his church, and not regarding the bull of the holy see, 
Si quis, suadente Diabolo 2 77 

“ Brother priest / 7 said the Templar, “ all this we know 
or guess at — tell us plainly, is thy master, the Prior, made 
prisoner, and to whom ? 77 

u Surely / 7 said Ambrose, “ he is in the hands of the men 
of Belial , 3 4 infesters of these woods, and contemners of the 
holy text, ‘ Touch not mine anointed, and do my prophets 
naught of evil . 7 77 4 

“ Here is a new argument for our swords, sirs / 7 said 
Front-de-Boeuf, turning to his companions; “ and so, in- 
stead of reaching us any assistance, the Prior of Jorvaulx 
requests aid at our hands? a man is well helped of these 
lazy churchmen when he hath most to do! — But speak out, 
priest, and say at once, what doth thy master expect from 
us? 77 

“ So please you / 7 said Ambrose, “ violent hands having 
been imposed on my reverend superior, contrary to the holy 
ordinance which I did already quote, and the men of Belial 
having rifled his mails and budgets , 5 and stripped him of 
two hundred marks of pure refined gold, they do yet de- 
mand of him a large sum beside, ere they will suffer him to 
depart from their uncircumcised hands. Wherefore the 
reverend father in God prays you, as his dear friends, to 
rescue him, either by paying down the ransom at which 
they hold him, or by force of arms, at your best discretion . 77 

“ The foul fiend quell the Prior ! 77 said Front-de-Boeuf; 
“ his morning’s draught has been a deep one. When did 
thy master hear of a Norman baron unbuckling his purse 
to relieve a churchman, whose bags are ten times as weighty 
as ours ? — And how can we do aught by valour to free him, 
that are cooped up here by ten times our number, and ex- 
pect an assault every moment? 77 

“ And that was what I was about to tell you / 7 said the 
monk, “ had your hastiness allowed me time. But, God 
help me, I am old, and these foul onslaughts distract an 

1 Wretches. 

2 “ If any one, urged on by the Devil.” 

3 A biblical term, meaning the spirit of evil personified ; Satan. 

4 Psalms cv. 15. 6 Wallets; bags. 


296 


IVANHOE 


aged man’s brain. Nevertheless, it is of verity that they 
assemble a camp, and raise a bank against the walls of this 
castle.” 

“To the battlements!” cried De Bracy, “ and let us 
mark what these knaves do without; ” and so saying, he 
opened a latticed window which led to a sort of bartisan or 
projecting balcony, and immediately called from thence to 
those in the apartment — “ Saint Dennis, but the old monk 
hath brought true tidings! — They bring forward mantelets 
and pavisses,* and the archers muster on the skirts of the 
wood like a dark cloud before a hailstorm.” 

Beginald Front-de-Boeuf also looked out upon the field, 
and immediately snatched his bugle; and, after winding a 
long and loud blast, commanded his men to their posts on 
the walls. 

“ De Bracy, look to the eastern side, where the walls are 
lowest. — Noble Bois-Guilbert, thy trade hath well taught 
thee how to attack and defend, look thou to the western 
side. — I myself will take post at the barbican. Yet do not 
confine your exertions to any one spot, noble friends! — we 
must this day be everywhere, and multiply ourselves, were 
it possible, so as to carry by our presence succour and relief 
wherever the attack is hottest. Our numbers are few, but 
activity and courage may supply that defect, since we have 
only to do with rascal clowns.” 

“But, noble knights,” exclaimed Father Ambrose, amidst 
the bustle and confusion occasioned by the preparations for 
defence, “ will none of ye hear the message of the reverend 
father in God, Aymer, Prior of Jorvaulx? — I beseech thee 
to hear me, noble Sir Beginald! ” 

“ Go patter thy petitions to heaven,” said the fierce 
Norman, “ for we on earth have no time to listen to them. 
— Ho! there, Anselm! see that seething pitch and oil are 
ready to pour on the heads of these audacious traitors. 
Look that the cross-bowmen lack not bolts. j* Fling abroad 

* Mantelets were temporary and movable defences formed of 
planks, under cover of which the assailants advanced to the attack 
of fortified places of old. Pavisses were a species of large shields 
covering the whole person, employed on the same occasions. [Scott.] 

f The bolt was the arrow peculiarly fitted to the cross-bow, as that 
of the long-bow was called a shaft. Hence the English proverb — 
“ I will either make a shaft or bolt of it,” signifying a determination 
to make one use or other of the thing spoken of. [Scott.] 


IVANIIOE 297 

my banner with the old hull’s head — the knaves shall soon 
find with whom they have to do this day! ” 

“But, noble sir,” continued the monk, persevering in his 
endeavours to draw attention, “ consider my vow of obedi- 
ence, and let me discharge myself of my Superior’s errand.” 

Away with this prating dotard,” said Front-de-Boeuf, 
“ lock him up in the chapel, to tell his beads till the broil 
be over. It will be a new thing to the saints in Torquil- 
stone to hear aves and paters; they have not been so hon- 
oured, I trow, since they were cut out of stone.” 

“ Blaspheme not the holy saints, Sir Beginald,” said De 
Bracy, “ we shall have need of their aid to-day before yon 
rascal rout disband.” 

“ I expect little aid from their hand,” said Front-de- 
Bceuf, “ unless we were to hurl them from the battlements 
on the heads of the villains. There is a huge lumbering 
Saint Christopher yonder, sufficient to bear a whole com- 
pany to the earth.” 

The Templar had in the meantime been looking out on 
the proceedings of the besiegers, with rather more attention 
than the brutal Front-de-Boeuf or his giddy companion. 

“ By the faith of mine order,” he said, “ these men ap- 
proach with more touch of discipline than could have been 
judged, however they come by it. See ye how dexterously 
they avail themselves of every cover which a tree or bush 
affords, and shun exposing themselves to the shot of our 
cross-bows? I spy neither banner nor pennon among them, 
and yet will I gage my golden chain 1 that they are led on 
by some noble knight or gentleman, skilful in the practice 
of wars.” 

“ I espy him,” said De Bracy; “ I see the waving of a 
knight’s crest and the gleam of his armour. See yon tall 
man in the black mail, who is busied marshalling the far- 
ther troop of the rascaille yeomen — by Saint Dennis, I hold 
him to be the same whom we called Le Noir Faineant, who 
overthrew thee, Front-de-Boeuf, in the lists at Ashby.” 

“ So much the better,” said Front-de-Boeuf, “ that he 
comes here to give me my revenge. Some hilding 2 fellow 
he must be, who dared not stay to assert his claim to the 
tourney prize which chance had assigned him. I should 

1 Compare the wager of his golden chain in Chapter v. 

2 Cowardly. 


298 


IVANHOE 


in vain have sought for him where knights and nobles seek 
their foes, and right glad am I he hath here shown himself 
among yon villain yeomanry.” 

The demonstrations of the enemy’s immediate approach 
cut off all farther discourse. Each knight repaired to his 
post, and at the head of the few followers whom they were 
able to muster, and who were in numbers inadequate to 
defend the whole extent of the Avails, they awaited with 
calm determination the threatened assault. 

[May this chapter fairly be criticised for its lack of unity ? Is the 
delineation of Ulrica, and the story she tells, unnatural at any points ? 
Compare her manner of talk with that of Mrs. Macgregor in Rob Roy 
and of Meg Merrilies in Guy Mannering. What speech of De Bracy, 
in this chapter, is most characteristic of him ? In the discussion about 
the ransoms, study carefully the motives of each speaker. Do you 
think the haste and confusion of the latter part of the chapter en- 
hances the effect of excitement and expectation?] 


CHAPTER XXVIII 


This wandering race, sever’d from other men, 

Boast yet their intercourse with human arts ; 

The seas, the woods, the deserts, which they haunt, 

Find them acquainted with their secret treasures : 

And unregarded herbs, and flowers, and blossoms, 

Display undreamt-of powers when gather’d by them. 

The Jew. 

Our history must needs retrograde for the space of a 
few pages, to inform the reader of certain passages material 
to his understanding the rest of this important narrative. 
His own intelligence may indeed have easily anticipated 
that, when Ivanhoe sunk down, and seemed abandoned by 
all the world, it was the importunity of Rebecca which pre- 
vailed on her father to have the gallant young warrior 
transported from the lists to the house which for the time 
the Jews inhabited in the suburbs of Ashby. 

It would not have been difficult to have persuaded Isaac 
to this step in any other circumstances, for his disposition 
was kind and grateful. But he had also the prejudices and 
scrupulous timidity of his persecuted people, and those 
were to be conquered. 

“Holy Abraham! ” he exclaimed, “he is a good youth, 
and my heart bleeds to see the gore trickle down his rich 
embroidered hacqueton , 1 and his corslet of goodly price — 
but to carry him to our house! — damsel, hast thou well 
considered? — he is a Christian, and by our law we may not 
deal with the stranger and Gentile, save for the advantage 
of our commerce/’ 

“Speak not so, my dear father,” replied Rebecca; “we 
may not indeed mix with them in banquet and in jollity; 
but in wounds and in misery, the Gentile becometh the 
Jew’s brother.” 

1 A quilted leather jacket, worn beneath armour. 


300 


IVANHOE 


“I would I knew what the I?ahhi Jacob Ben Tudela 1 
would opine on it/* replied Isaac; — “ nevertheless, the good 
youth must not bleed to death. Let Seth and Reuben bear 
him to Ashby.” 

“ Nay, let them place him in my litter,” said Rebecca; 
“ I will mount one of the palfreys.” 

“ That were to expose thee to the gaze of those dogs of 
Ishmael and of Edom,” 2 whispered Isaac, with a suspicious 
glance towards the crowd of knights and squires. But 
Rebecca was already busied in carrying her charitable 
purpose into effect, and listed not what he said, until 
Isaac, seizing the sleeve of her mantle, again exclaimed, 
in a hurried voice — “ Beard of Aaron 3 ! — what if the 
youth perish! — if he die in our custody, shall we not he 
held guilty of his blood, and be torn to pieces by the mul- 
titude? ” 

“ He will not die, my father,” said Rebecca, gently ex- 
tricating herself from the grasp of Isaac — “ he will not die 
unless we abandon him; and if so, we are indeed answerable 
for his blood to God and to man.” 

“ Nay,” said Isaac, releasing his hold, “ it grieveth me as 
much to see the drops of his blood as if they were so many 
golden byzants from mine own purse; and I well know 
that the lessons of Miriam, daughter of the Rabbi Manasses 
of Byzantium, whose soul is in Paradise, have made thee 
skilful in the art of healing, and that thou knowest the 
craft of herbs and the force of elixirs. Therefore, do as 
thy mind giveth thee — thou art a good damsel, a blessing, 
and a crown, and a song of rejoicing unto me and unto my 
house, and unto the people of my fathers.” 4 

The apprehensions of Isaac, however, were not ill 
founded; and the generous and grateful benevolence of 
his daughter exposed her, on her return to Ashhv, to the 
unhallowed gaze of Brian de Bois-Guilbert. The Templar 
twice passed and repassed them on the road, fixing his hold 
and ardent look on the beautiful Jewess; and we have al- 

1 Perhaps a reference to Benjamin of Tudela, a celebrated Jewish 
traveller of the twelfth century. 

2 Idumea ; a district to the south of Palestine, whose inhabitants 
were enemies of the children of Israel. 

3 Psalms cxxxiii. 2. 

4 Note the imitation of biblical phraseology in Isaac’s talk. 


IV AN HOE 


301 


ready seen the consequences of the admiration which her 
charms excited, when accident threw her into the power of 
that unprincipled voluptuary. 

Rebecca lost no time in causing the patient to be trans- 
ported to their temporary dwelling, and proceeded with her 
own hands to examine and to bind up his wounds. The 
youngest reader of romances and romantic ballads must 
recollect how often the females, during the dark ages, as 
they are called, were initiated into the mysteries of surgery, 
and how frequently the gallant knight submitted the 
wounds of his person to her cure, whose eyes had yet more 
deeply penetrated his heart. 

But the Jews, both male and female, possessed and 
practised the medical science in all its branches, and the 
monarchs and powerful barons of the time frequently com- 
mitted themselves to the charge of some experienced sage 
among this despised people, when wounded or in sickness. 
The aid of the Jewish physicians was not the less eagerly 
sought after, though a general belief prevailed among the 
Christians that the Jewish Rabbins were deeply acquainted 
with the occult sciences, and particularly with the cabalis- 
tical art, which had its name and origin in the studies of 
the sages of Israel. Neither did the Rabbins disown such 
acquaintance with supernatural arts, which added nothing 
(for what could add aught?) to the hatred with which their 
nation was regarded, while it diminished the contempt with 
which that malevolence was mingled. A Jewish magician 
might be the subject of equal abhorrence with a Jewish 
usurer, hut he could not be equally despised. It is besides 
probable, considering the wonderful cures they are said to 
have performed, that the Jews possessed some secrets of the 
healing art peculiar to themselves, and which, with the ex- 
clusive spirit arising out of their condition, they took great 
care to conceal from the Christians amongst whom they 
dwelt. 

The beautiful Rebecca had been heedfully brought up in 
all the knowledge proper to her nation, which her apt and 
powerful mind had retained, arranged, and enlarged, in the 
course of a progress beyond her years, her sex, and even the 
age in which she lived. Her knowledge of medicine and 
of the healing art had been acquired under an aged Jewess, 
the daughter of one of their most celebrated doctors, who 


302 


IV AN IIOE 


loved Rebecca as her own child, and was believed to have 
communicated to her secrets which had been left to herself 
by her sage father at the same time, and under the same 
circumstances. The fate of Miriam had indeed been to fall 
a sacrifice to the fanaticism of the times; but her secrets 
had survived in her apt pupil. 

Rebecca, thus endowed with knowledge as with beauty, 
was universally revered and admired by her own tribe, who 
almost regarded her as one of those gifted women men- 
tioned in the sacred history. Her father himself, out of 
reverence for her talents, which involuntary mingled itself 
with his unbounded affection, permitted the maiden a 
greater liberty than was usually indulged to those of her 
sex by the habits of her people, and was, as we have just 
seen, frequently guided by her opinion, even in preference 
to his own. 

When Ivanhoe reached the habitation of Isaac, he was 
still in a state of unconsciousness, owing to the profuse loss 
of blood which had taken place during his exertions in the 
lists. Rebecca examined the wound, and having applied 
to it such vulnerary 1 remedies as her art prescribed, in- 
formed her father that if fever could he averted, of which 
the great bleeding rendered her little apprehensive, and if 
the healing balsam of Miriam retained its virtue, there was 
nothing to fear for his guest’s life, and that he might with 
safety travel to York with them on the ensuing day. Isaac 
looked a little blank at this annunciation. His charity 
would willingly have stopped short at Ashby, or at most 
would have left the wounded Christian to be tended in the 
house where he was residing at present, with an assurance 
to the Hebrew to whom it belonged that all expenses 
should be duly discharged. To this, however, Rebecca op- 
posed many reasons, of which we shall only mention two 
that had peculiar weight with Isaac. The one was, that 
she would on no account put the phial of precious balsam 
into the hands of another physician even of her own tribe, 
lest that valuable mystery should be discovered; the other, 
that this wounded knight, Wilfred of Ivanhoe, was an 
intimate favourite of Richard Coeur-de-Lion, and that, in 
case the monarch should return, Isaac, who had supplied 
his brother John with treasure to prosecute his rebellious 

1 Healing. 


IV AN HOE 


303 


purposes, would stand in no small need of a powerful pro- 
tector who enjoyed Richard’s favour. 

“ Thou art speaking but sooth, Rebecca,” said Isaac, 
giving away to these weighty arguments — “ it. were an 
offending Heaven to betray the secrets of the blessed 
Miriam; for the good which Heaven giveth, is not rashly 
to be squandered upon others, whether it be talents of gold 
and shekels of silver, or whether it be the secret mysteries 
of a wise physician — assuredl) they should be preserved to 
those to whom Providence hath vouchsafed them. And 
him whom the Nazarenes of England call the Lion’s Heart, 
assuredly it were better for me to fall into the hands of a 
strong lion of Idumea than into his, if he shall have got 
assurance of my dealing with his brother. Wherefore I will 
lend ear to thy counsel, and this youth shall journey with 
us unto York, and our house shall be as a home to him 
until his wounds shall be healed. And if he of the Lion 
Heart shall return to the land, as is now noised abroad, then 
shall this Wilfred of Ivanhoe be unto me as a wall of de- 
fence, when the king’s displeasure shall burn high against 
thy father. And if he doth not return, this Wilfred may 
natheless 1 repay us our charges when he shall gain treasure 
by the strength of his spear and of his sword, even as he did 
yesterday and this day also. For the youth is a good youth, 
and keepeth the day which he appointeth, and restoreth 
that which he borroweth, and succoureth the Israelite, 
even the child of my father’s house, when he is encom- 
passed by strong thieves and sons of Belial.” 

It was not until evening was nearly closed that Ivanhoe 
was restored to consciousness of his situation. He awoke 
from a broken slumber, under the confused impressions 
which are naturally attendant on the recovery from a state 
of insensibility. He was unable for some time to recall 
exactly to memory the circumstances which had preceded 
his fall in the lists, or to make out any connected chain 
of the events in which he had been engaged upon the yes- 
terday. A sense of wounds and injury, joined to great 
weakness and exhaustion, was mingled with the recollection 
of blows dealt and received, of steeds rushing upon each 
other, overthrowing and overthrown — of shouts and clash- 
ing of arms, and all the heady tumult of a confused fight. 

1 Nevertheless. 


304 


IVANIIOE 


An effort to draw aside the curtain of his couch was in 
some degree successful, although rendered difficult by the 
pain of his wound. 

To his great surprise he found himself in a room mag- 
nificently furnished, but having cushions instead of chairs 
to rest upon, and in other respects partaking so much of 
Oriental costume, that he began to doubt whether he had 
not, during his sleep, been transported back again to the 
land of Palestine. The impression was increased when, 
the tapestry being drawn aside, a female form, dressed in 
a rich habit, which partook more of the Eastern taste than 
that of Europe, glided through the door which it concealed, 
and was followed by a swarthy domestic. 

As the wounded knight was about to address this fair 
apparition, she imposed silence by placing her slender fin- 
ger upon lier ruby lips, while the attendant, approaching 
him, proceeded to uncover Ivanhoe’s side, and the lovely 
Jewess satisfied herself that the bandage was in its place, 
and the wound doing well. She performed her task with 
a graceful and dignified simplicity and modesty which 
might, even in more civilized days, have served to redeem 
it from whatever might seem repugnant to female delicacy. 
The idea of so young and beautiful a person engaged in 
attendance on a sick-bed, or in dressing the wound of 
one of a different sex, was melted away and lost in that 
of a beneficent being contributing her effectual aid to 
relieve pain, and to avert the stroke of death. Rebecca’s 
few and brief directions were given in the Hebrew lan- 
guage to the old domestic; and he, who had been fre- 
quently her assistant in similar cases, obeyed them without 
reply. 

The accents of an unknown tongue, however harsh they 
might have sounded when uttered by another, had, coming 
from the beautiful Rebecca, the romantic and pleasing 
effect which fancy ascribes to the charms pronounced by 
some beneficent fairy, unintelligible, indeed, to the ear, but, 
from the sweetness of utterance and benignity of aspect 
which accompanied them, touching and affecting to the 
heart. Without making an attempt at further question, 
Ivanhoe suffered them in silence to take the measures they 
thought most proper for his recovery; and it was not until 
those were completed, and this kind physician about to 


IVANTIOE 


305 


retire, that his curiosity could no longer he suppressed. — 
“ Gentle maiden/’ he began in the Arabian tongue, with 
which his Eastern travels had rendered him familiar, and 
which he thought most likely to be understood by the 
turban’d and caftan’d 1 damsel who stood before him — “ I 
pray you, gentle maiden, of your courtesy ” 

But here he was interrupted by his fair physician, a 
smile which she could scarce suppress dimpling for an in- 
stant a face whose general expression was that of contem- 
plative melancholy. “ I am cf England, Sir Knight, and 
speak the English tongue, although my dress and my 
lineage belong to another climate/’ 

“ Koble damsel/’ — again the Knight of Ivanhoe began; 
and again Rebecca hastened to interrupt him. 

“ Bestow not on me, Sir Knight/’ she said, “ the epithet 
of noble. It is well you should speedily know that your 
handmaiden is a poor J ewess, the daughter of that Isaac of 
York to whom you were so lately a good and kind lord. 
It well becomes him, and those of his household, to render 
to you such careful tendance as your present state neces- 
sarily demands.” 

I know not whether the fair Rowena would have been 
altogether satisfied with the species of emotion with which 
her devoted knight had hitherto gazed on the beautiful 
features, and fair form, and lustrous eyes, of the lovely 
Rebecca; eyes whose brilliancy was shaded, and, as it were, 
mellowed, by the fringe of her long silken eyelashes, and 
which a minstrel would have compared to the evening 
star darting its rays through a bower of jessamine. But 
Ivanhoe was too good a Catholic to retain the same class 
of feelings towards a Jewess. This Rebecca had foreseen, 
and for this very purpose she had hastened to mention her 
father’s name and lineage; yet — for the fair and wise 
daughter of Isaac was not without a touch of female weak- 
ness — she could not hut sigh internally when the glance of 
respectful admiration, not altogether unmixed with tender- 
ness, with which Ivanhoe had hitherto regarded his un- 
known benefactress, was exchanged at once for a manner 
cold, composed, and collected, and fraught with no deeper 
feeling than that which expressed a grateful sense of 

1 A garment worn (by men) in Eastern countries, consisting of a 
kind of long vest fastened with a girdle, and very long sleeves. 

20 


306 


IVANHOE 


courtesy received from an unexpected quarter, and from 
one of an inferior race. It was not that Ivanhoe’s former 
carriage expressed more than that general devotional hom- 
age which youth always pays to beauty; yet it was mortify- 
ing that one word should operate as a spell to remove poor 
Rebecca, who could not he supposed altogether ignorant of 
her title to such homage, into a degraded class to whom 
it could not be honourably rendered. 

But the gentleness and candour of Rebecca’s nature im- 
puted no fault to Ivanhoe for sharing in the universal 
prejudices of his age and religion. On the ' contrary, the 
fair Jewess, though sensible her patient now regarded her 
as one of a race of reprobation , 1 with whom it was disgrace- 
ful to hold any beyond the most necessary intercourse, 
ceased not to pay the same patient and devoted attention 
to his safety and convalescence. She informed him of 
the necessity they were under of removing to York, and of 
her father’s resolution to transport him thither, and tend 
him in his own house until his health should be restored. 
Ivanhoe expressed great repugnance to this plan, which he 
grounded on unwillingness to give farther trouble to his 
benefactors. 

“ Was there not,” he said, “ in Ashby, or near it, some 
Saxon franklin, or even some wealthy peasant, who would 
endure the burden of a wounded countryman’s residence 
with him until he should be again able to bear his armour? 
— Was there no convent of Saxon endowment, where he 
could be received? — Or could he not be transported as far 
as Burton, where he was sure to find hospitality with Wal- 
theoff, the Abbot of St. Withold’s, to whom he was 
related? ” 

“Any, the worst of these harbourages,” said Rebecca, 
with a melancholy smile, “ would unquestionably be more 
fitting for your residence than the abode of a despised Jew; 
yet, Sir Knight, unless you would dismiss your physician, 
you cannot change your lodging. Our nation, as you well 
know, can cure wounds, though we deal not in inflicting 
them; and in our own family, in particular, are secrets 
which have been handed down since the days of Solomon, 
and of which you have already experienced the advantages. 
No Nazarene — I crave your forgiveness, Sir Knight— no 
1 In a state of condemnation, rejection. 


IVANHOE 


307 


Christian leech, within the four seas of Britain, could 
enable you to bear your corslet within a month/’ 

“ And how soon wilt thou enable me to brook it? ” said 
Ivanlioe, impatiently. 

“ Within eight days, if thou wilt be patient and con- 
formable to my directions,” replied Rebecca. 

“ By Our Blessed Lady,” said Wilfred, “ if it be not a 
sin to name her here, it is no time for me or any true knight 
to be bedridden; and if thou accomplish thy promise, 
maiden, I will pay thee with my casque full of crowns, 
come by them as I may.” 

“I will accomplish my promise,” said Rebecca, “and thou 
shalt bear thine armour on the eighth day from hence, if 
thou wilt grant me but one boon in the stead of the silver 
thou dost promise me.” 

“ If it be within my power, and such as a true Christian 
knight may yield to one of thy people,” replied Ivanhoe, 
“ I will grant thy boon blithely and thankfully.” 

“ Nay,” answered Rebecca, “ I will but pray of thee to 
believe henceforward that a Jew may do good service to a 
Christian, without desiring other guerdon than the blessing 
of the Great Father who made both Jew and Gentile.” 

“ It were sin to doubt it, maiden,” replied Ivanhoe; “ and 
I repose myself on thy skill without further scruple or ques- 
tion, well trusting you will enable me to bear my corslet on 
the eighth day. And now, my kind leech, let me enquire 
of the news abroad. What of the noble Saxon Cedric and 

his household? — what of the lovely Lady ” He stopt, 

as if unwilling to speak Rowena’s name in the house of a 
Jew — “ Of her, I mean, who was named Queen of the 
tournament ? ” 

“ And who was selected by you, Sir Knight, to hold that 
dignity, with judgment which was admired as much as your 
valour,” replied Rebecca. 

The blood which Ivanhoe had lost did not prevent a 
flush from crossing his cheek, feeling that he had incau- 
tiously betrayed a deep interest in Rowena by the awkward 
attempt he had made to conceal it. 

“ It was less of her I would speak,” said he, “ than of 
Prince John; and I would fain know somewhat of a faith- 
ful squire, and why he now attends me not? ” 

“ Let me use my authority as a leech,” answered Re- 


308 


IVANIIOE 


becca, " and enjoin you to keep silence, and avoid agitating 
reflections, whilst 1 apprize you of what you desire to 
know. Prince John hath broken off the tournament, and 
set forward in all haste towards York, with the nobles, 
knights, and churchmen of his party, after collecting such 
sums as they could wring, by fair means or foul, from those 
who are esteemed the wealthy of the land. It is said he 
designs to assume his brother’s crown.” 

" Hot without a blow struck in its defence,” said Ivan- 
hoe, raising himself upon the couch, " if there were but one 
true subject in England. I will fight for Richard’s title 
with the best of them — ay, one or two, in his just quarrel! ” 

" But that you may be able to do so,” said Rebecca, 
touching his shoulder with her hand, " you must now ob- 
serve my directions, and remain quiet.” 

" True, maiden,” said Ivanhoe, " as quiet as these dis- 
quieted times will permit. — And of Cedric and his house- 
hold? ” 

" His steward came but brief while since,” said the 
Jewess, " panting with haste, to ask my father for certain 
monies, the price of wool the growth of Cedric’s flocks, and 
from him I learned that Cedric and Athelstane of Conings- 
burgh had left Prince John’s lodging in high displeasure, 
and were about to set forth on their return homeward.” 

"Went any lady with them to the banquet?” said Wil- 
fred. 

" The Lady Rowena,” said Rebecca, answering the ques- 
tion with more precision than it had been asked — " the 
Lady- Rowena went not to the Prince’s feast, and, as the 
steward reported to us, she is now on her journey back to 
Rotherwood, with her guard’ ’ A ~ ;1 touchier 

your faithful squire Gurth 

" Ha! ” exclaimed the knig 
— But thou dost,” he immed 
mayst, for it was from thy b 

vinced,from thine own generosity of spirit, that lie received 
but yesterday a hundred zecchins.” 

" Speak not of that,” said Rebecca, blushing deeply; 
" I see how easy it is for the tongue to betray what the 
heart would gladly conceal.” 

"But this sum of gold,” said Ivanhoe gravely; "my 
honour is concerned in repaying it to your father.” 


IVANHOE 


309 


“ Let it be as thou wilt,” said Bebecca, “ when eight days 
have passed away; but think not, and speak not now, of 
aught that may retard thy recovery . 77 

“ Be it so, kind maiden , 77 said Ivanhoe; “ I were most 
ungrateful to dispute thy commands. But one word of the 
fate of poor Gurth, and I have done with questioning 
thee . 77 

I grieve to tell thee, Sir Knight , 77 answered the Jewess, 
“ that he is in custody by the order of Cedric. 77 — And then 
observing the distress which her communication gave to 
Wilfred, she instantly added, “ But the steward Oswald 
said, that if nothing occurred to renew his master’s dis- 
pleasure against him, he was sure that Cedric would pardon 
Gurth, a faithful serf, and one who stood high in favour, 
and who had but committed this error out of the love which 
he bore to Cedric’s son. And he said, moreover, that he 
and his comrades, and especially Wamba the Jester, were 
resolved to warn Gurth to make his escape by the way, in 
case Cedric’s ire against him could not be mitigated . 77 

“ Would to God they may keep their purpose ! 77 said 
Ivanhoe; “ but it Seems as if I were destined to bring ruin 
on whomsoever hath shown kindness to me. My king, by 
whom I was honoured and distinguished, thou seest that 
the brother most indebted to him is raising his arms to 
grasp his crown; — my regard hath brought restraint and 
trouble on the fairest of her sex; — and now my father in his 
mood may slay this poor bondsman, but for his love and 
loyal service to me! — Thou seest, maiden, what an ill-fated 
wretch thou dost labour to assist; be wise, and let me go, 
ere the misfortunes which track my footsteps like slot- 
hounds, shall involve thee also in their pursuit.” 

“ Kay,” said Bebecca, “ thy weakness and thy grief, Sir 
Knight, make thee miscalculate the purposes of Heaven. 
Thou hast been restored to thy country when it most needed 
the assistance of a strong hand and a true heart, and thou 
hast humbled the pride of thine enemies and those of thy 
king, when their horn 1 was most highly exalted; and for 
the evil which thou hast sustained, seest thou not that 
Heaven has raised thee a helper and a physician, even among 
the most despised of the land? — Therefore, be of good 
courage, and trust that thou art preserved for some marvel 
1 An Old Testament symbol of power or glory. 


310 


IVANIIOE 


which thine arm shall work before this people. Adieu — 
and having taken the medicine which I shall send thee by 
the hand of Reuben, compose thyself again to rest, that 
thou mayest be the more able to endure the journey on the 
succeeding day.” 

Ivanhoe was convinced by the reasoning, and obeyed the 
directions, of Rebecca. The draught which Reuben ad- 
ministered was of a sedative and narcotic quality, and se- 
cured the patient sound and undisturbed slumbers. In 
the morning his kind physician found him entirely free 
from feverish symptoms, and tit to undergo the fatigue of a 
journey. 

He was deposited in the horse-litter which had brought 
him from the lists, and every precaution taken for his trav- 
elling with ease. In one circumstance only even the 
entreaties of Rebecca were unable to secure sufficient atten- 
tion to the accommodation of the wounded knight. Isaac, 
like the enriched traveller of Juvenal’s tenth satire , 1 had 
ever the fear of robbery before his eyes, conscious that he 
would be alike accounted fair game by the marauding 
Norman noble and by the Saxon outlaw. He therefore 
journeyed at a great rate, and made short halts, and shorter 
repasts, so that lie passed by Cedric and Athelstane, who had 
several hours the start of him, but who had been delayed 
by their protracted feasting at the convent of Saint Wit- 
hold’s. Yet such was the virtue of Miriam’s balsam, or 
such the strength of Ivanhoe’s constitution, that he did 
not sustain from the hurried journey that inconvenience 
which his kind physician had apprehended. 

In another point of view, however, the Jew’s haste proved 
somewhat more than good speed. The rapidity with which 
he insisted on travelling bred several disputes between 
him and the party whom he had hired to attend him as a 
guard. These men were Saxons, and not free by any means 
from the national love of ease and good living which the 
Normans stigmatized as laziness and gluttony. Reversing 
Shylock’s position, they had accepted the employment 

1 The Tenth Satire of the famous Roman poet (60-140 a.d.) was 
imitated by Dr. Samuel Johnson under the title of Ttie Vanity of 
Human Wishes. (See note at the close of Chapter xliv.) The 
passage alluded to says that if you carry a few vessels of silver at 
night you tremble at every shadow, while the traveller with empty 
pockets goes singing in the robber’s face. Satires, x, 19-23. 


IVANBOE 


311 


in hopes of feeding upon the wealthy Jew, and were very 
much displeased when they found themselves disappointed, 
by the rapidity with which he insisted on their proceeding. 
They remonstrated also upon the risk of damage to their 
horses by these forced marches. Finally, there arose be- 
twixt Isaac and his satellites a deadly feud concerning the 
quantity of wine and ale to be allowed for consumption at 
each meal. And thus it happened that, when the alarm 
of danger approached and that which Isaac feared was 
likely to come upon him, he was deserted by the discon- 
tented mercenaries on whose protection he had relied, with- 
out using the means necessary to secure their attachment. 

In this deplorable condition the Jew, with his daughter 
and her wounded patient, were found by Cedric, as his 
already been noticed, and soon afterwards fell into the 
power of De Bracy and his confederates. Little notice was 
at first taken of the horse-litter, and it might have remained 
behind hut for the curiosity of De Bracy, who looked into 
it under the impression that it might contain the object 
of his enterprise, for Rowena had not unveiled herself. 
But De Bracy’s astonishment was considerable when he 
discovered that the litter contained a wounded man, who, 
conceiving himself to have fallen into the power of Saxon 
outlaws, with whom his name might be a protection for 
himself and his friends, frankly avowed himself to be 
Wilfred of I-vanhoe. 

The ideas of chivalrous honour, which, amidst his wild- 
ness and levity, never utterly abandoned De Bracy, pro- 
hibited him from doing the knight any injury in his 
defenceless condition, and equally interdicted his betraying 
him to Front-de-Boeuf, who would have had no scruples 
to put to death, under any circumstances, the rival claim- 
ant of the fief of Ivanhoe. On the other hand, to liberate 
a suitor preferred by the Lady Rowena, as the events of the 
tournament, and indeed Wilfred’s previous banishment 
from his father’s house, had made matter of notoriety, was 
a pitch far above the flight of De Bracy’s generosity. A 
middle course betwixt good and evil was all which he found 
himself capable of adopting, and he commanded two of his 
own squires to keep close by the litter, and to suffer no one 
to approach it. If questioned, they were directed by their 
master to say that the empty litter of the Lady Rowena 


312 


IV AN HOB 


was employed to transport one of their comrades who had 
been wounded in the scuffle. On arriving at Torquilstone, 
while the Knight Templar and the lord of that castle were 
each intent upon their own schemes, the one on the Jew’s 
treasure, and the other on his daughter, De Bracy’s squires 
conveyed Ivanhoe, still under the name of a wounded com- 
rade, to a distant apartment. This explanation was ac- 
cordingly returned by these men to Front-de-Boeuf, when 
he questioned them why they did not make for the battle- 
ments upon the alarm. 

“ A wounded companion! ” he replied in great wrath and 
astonishment. “No wonder that churls and yeomen wax 
so presumptuous as even to lay leaguer 1 before castles, and 
that clowns and swineherds send defiances to nobles, since 
men-at-arms have turned sick men’s nurses, and Free Com- 
panions are grown keepers of dying folk’s curtains, when 
the castle is about to he assailed. — To the battlements, ye 
loitering villains! ” he exclaimed, raising his stentorian 
voice till the arches around rung again, “ to the battle- 
ments, or I will splinter your hones with this truncheon! ” 

The men sulkily replied, “ That they desired nothing 
better than to go to the battlements, providing Front-de- 
Boeuf would bear them out with their master, who had 
commanded them to tend the dying man.” 

“ The dying man, knaves! ” rejoined the Baron; “ I 
promise thee we shall all be dying men an we stand not to 
it the more stoutly. But I will relieve the guard upon this 
caitiff companion of yours. — Here, Urfried — hag — fiend of 
a Saxon witch — hearest me not? — tend me this bedridden 
fellow, since he must needs be tended, whilst these knaves 
use their weapons. — Here be two arblasts, comrades, with 
windlaces and quarrells * — to the barbican with you, and 
see you drive each bolt through a Saxon brain.” 

The men, who, like most of their description, were 
fond of enterprise and detested inaction, went joyfully to 
the scene of danger as they were commanded, and thus the 
charge of Ivanhoe was transferred to Urfried, or Ulrica. 
But she, whose brain was burning with remembrance of 

* The arblast was a cross-bow, the windlace the machine used in 
bending that weapon, and the quarrell, so called from its square or 
diamond-shaped head, was the bolt adapted to it. [Scott.] 

1 Lay siege to. 


IVANBOE 


313 


injuries and with hopes of vengeance, was readily induced 
to devolve upon Rebecca the care of her patient. 

[Do you consider the opening sentence of this chapter a fortunate 
one? Can you recall instances, in the chapter, of purely conventional 
epithets, like Rebecca’s “slender” fingers and “ruby” lips? Of 
sentences arranged in reverse order to give an archaic effect? Of 
sentences recalling the rhythm of the Scriptures, or that of blank 
verse? Note that De Bracy’s “middle course between good and evil ” 
is one that Scott frequently forces upon his heroes. An interesting 
parallel to Rebecca’s conversation about Jews and Christians will be 
found in Lessing’s Nathan der Weise. ] 


CHAPTER XXIX 


Ascend the watch-tower yonder, valiant soldier, 

Look on the field, and say how goes the battle. 

Schiller’s Maid of Orleans. 

A moment of peril is often also a moment of open- 
hearted kindness and affection. We are thrown off our 
guard by the general agitation of our feelings, and betray 
the intensity of those which, at more tranquil periods, 
our prudence at least conceals, if it cannot altogether sup- 
press them. In finding herself once more by the side of 
Ivanhoe, Rebecca was astonished at the keen sensation of 
pleasure which she experienced, even at a time when all 
around them both was danger, if not despair. As she felt 
his pulse, and enquired after his health, there was a softness 
in her touch and in her accents, implying a kinder interest 
than she would herself have been pleased to have volun- 
tarily expressed. Her voice faltered and her hand trembled, 
and it was only the cold question of Ivanlioe, “ Is it you, 
gentle maiden?” which recalled her to herself, and re- 
minded her the sensations which she felt were not and could 
not be mutual. A sigh escaped, hut it was scarce audible; 
and the questions which she asked the knight concerning 
his state of health were put in the tone of calm friendship. 
Ivanhoe answered her hastily that he was, in point of 
health, as well, and better than he could have expected — 
“ Thanks,” he said, “ dear Rebecca, to thy helpful skill.” 

“ He calls me dear Rebecca,” said the maiden to herself, 
“ but it is in the cold and careless tone which ill suits the 
word. His war-horse — his hunting hound, are dearer to 
him than the despised Jewess! ” 

“ My mind, gentle maiden,” continued Ivanhoe, “ is more 
disturbed by anxiety than my body with pain. From the 
speeches of those men who were my warders just now, I 
learn that I am a prisoner, and, if I judge aright of the 
loud hoarse voice which even now dispatched them hence 
on some military duty, I am in the castle of Front-de-Boeuf. 


IVANHOE 


315 


If so, how will this end, or how can I protect Rowena and 
my father? ” 

“ He names not the Jew or Jewess,” said Rebecca in- 
ternally; “ yet what is onr portion in him, and how justly 
am I punished by Heaven for letting my thoughts dwell 
upon him! ” She hastened after this brief self-accusation 
to give Ivanhoe what information she could; but it 
amounted only to this, that the Templar Bois-Guilbert and 
the Baron Front-de-Bceuf were commanders within the 
castle; that it was beleaguered from without, but by whom 
she knew not. She added, that there was a Christian priest 
within the castle who might be possessed of more informa- 
tion. 

“A Christian priest!” said the knight joyfully; “ fetch 
him hither, Rebecca, if thou canst — say a sick man desires 
his ghostly counsel — say what thou wilt, but bring him — 
something I must do or attempt, but how can I determine 
until I know how matters stand without? ” 

Rebecca, in compliance with the wishes of Ivanhoe, made 
that attempt to bring Cedric into the wounded knight’s 
chamber, which was defeated, as we have already seen, by 
the interference of Urfried, who had also been on the watch 
to intercept the supposed monk. Rebecca retired to com- 
municate to Ivanhoe the result of her errand. 

They had not much leisure to regret the failure of this 
source of intelligence, or to contrive by what means it 
might be supplied; for the noise within the castle, occa- 
sioned by the defensive preparations which had been con- 
siderable for some time, now increased into tenfold bustle 
and clamour. The heavy, yet hasty step of the men-at- 
arms traversed the battlements or resounded on the narrow 
and winding passages and stairs which led to the various 
bartisans and points of defence. The voices of the knights 
were heard, animating their followers or directing means of 
defence, while their commands were often drowned in the 
clashing of armour, or the clamorous shouts of those whom 
they addressed. Tremendous as these sounds were, and yet 
more terrible from the awful event which they presaged, 
there was a sublimity mixed with them which Rebecca’s 
high-toned mind could feel even in that moment of terror. 
Her eye kindled, although the blood fled from her cheeks; 
and there was a strong mixture of fear and of a thrilling 


316 


IVANHOE 


sense of the sublime as she repeated, half whispering to 
herself, half speaking to her companion, the sacred text, — 
“ The quiver rattleth — the glittering spear and the shield 
— the noise of the captains and the shouting! ” 1 

But Ivanhoe was like the war-horse of that sublime pas- 
sage, glowing with impatience at his inactivity and with his 
ardent desire to mingle in the affray of which these sounds 
were the introduction. “ If I could but drag myself,” he 
said, “ to yonder window, that I might see how this brave 
game is like to go — if I had but bow to shoot a shaft, or 
battle-axe to strike were it but a single blow for our deliver- 
ance! — It is in vain — it is in vain — I am alike nerveless 
and weaponless! ” 

“ Fret not thyself, noble knight,” answered Rebecca, 
“ the sounds have ceased of a sudden — it may be they join 
not battle.” 

“Thou knowest nought of it,” said Wilfred impatiently; 
“ this dead pause only shows that the men are at their posts 
on the walls, and expecting an instant attack; what we have 
heard was but the distant muttering of the storm — it will 
burst anon in all its fury. — Could I but reach yonder 
window! ” 

“ Thou wilt but injure thyself by the attempt, noble 
knight,” replied his attendant. Observing his extreme 
solicitude, she firmly added, “ I myself will stand at the 
lattice, and describe to you as I can what passes without.” 

“You must not — you shall not!” exclaimed Ivanhoe; 
“ each lattice, each aperture, will be soon a mark for the 
archers; some random shaft ” 

“ It shall be welcome! ” murmured Rebecca, as with firm 
pace she ascended two or three steps, which led to the 
window of which they spoke. # 

“Rebecca, dear Rebecca!” exclaimed Ivanhoe, “this is 
no maiden’s pastime — do not expose thyself to wounds and 
death, and render me for ever miserable for having given 
the occasion; at least, cover thyself with yonder ancient 
buckler, and show as little of your person at the lattice 
as may be.” 

Following with wonderful promptitude the directions of 
Ivanhoe, and availing herself of the protection of the large 
ancient shield, which she placed against the lower part of 

1 Job xxxix. 23. 


IVANHOE 


317 


the window, Rebecca, with tolerable security to herself, 
could witness part of what was passing without the castle, 
and report to Ivanhoe the preparations which the assailants 
were making for the storm. Indeed, the situation which 
she thus obtained was peculiarly favourable for this pur- 
pose, because, being placed on an angle of the main build- 
ing, Rebecca could not only see what passed beyond the 
precincts of the castle, but also commanded a view of the 
outwork likely to be the first object of the meditated 
assault. It was an exterior fortification of no great height 
or strength, intended to protect the postern-gate through 
which Cedric had been recently dismissed by Front-de- 
Bceuf. This castle moat divided this species of barbican 
from the rest of the fortress, so that, in case of its being 
taken, it was easy to cut off the communication with the 
main building by withdrawing the temporary bridge. In 
the outwork was a sallyport corresponding to the postern 
of the castle, and the whole was surrounded by a strong 
palisade. Rebecca could observe, from the number of 
men placed for the defence of this post, that the besieged 
entertained apprehensions for its safety; and from the 
mustering of the assailants in a direction nearly opposite 
to the outwork, it seemed no less plain that it had been 
selected as a vulnerable point of attack. 

These appearances she hastily communicated to Ivanhoe, 
and added, “ The skirts of the wood seem lined with 
archers, although only a few are advanced from its dark 
shadow.” 

“ Under what banner? ” asked Ivanhoe. 

“ Under no ensign of war which I can observe,” answered 
Rebecca. 

“ A singular novelty,” muttered the knight, “ to advance 
to storm such a castle without pennon or banner displayed! 
— Seest thou who they be that act as leaders ? ” 

“ A knight, clad in sable armour, is the most conspic- 
uous,” said the Jewess; “ he alone is armed from head to 
heel, and seems to assume the direction of all around him.” 

“What device does he bear on his shield?” replied 
Ivanhoe. 

“ Something resembling a bar of iron, and a padlock 
painted blue on the black shield.” * 

* Note F. [Scott.] 


318 


IV AN HOE 


“ A fetterlock 1 and shacklebolt 2 azure /’ 3 4 said Ivanhoe; 
“ I know not who may bear the device, but well I ween it 
might now be mine own. Canst thou not see the motto? ” 

“ Scarce the device itself at this distance/’ replied Re- 
becca; “ but when the sun glances fair upon his shield, it 
shows as I tell you.” 

“ Seem there no other leaders?” exclaimed the anxious 
enquirer. 

“ None of mark and distinction that I can behold from 
this station,” said Rebecca; "but, doubtless, the other side 
of the castle is also assailed. They appear even now pre- 
paring to advance — God of Zion, protect us! — What a 
dreadful sight! — Those who advance first bear huge shields 
and defences made of plank; the others follow, bending 
their bows as they come on. — They raise their hows! — God 
of Moses, forgive the creatures thou hast made! ” 

Her description was here suddenly interrupted by the 
signal for assault, which was given by the blast of a shrill 
bugle, and at once answered by a flourish of the Norman 
trumpets from the battlements, which, mingled with the 
deep and hollow clang of the nakers, (a species of kettle- 
drum,) retorted in notes of defiance the challenge of the 
enemy. The shouts of both parties augmented the fearful 
din, the assailants crying, “ Saint George for merry Eng- 
land! ” and the Normans answering them with loud cries 
of “ En avantf De Bracy ! — Beau-seant ! Beau-seant! — 
Front -de-Bceuf a la rescousse 5 ! ” according to the war- 
cries of their different commanders. 

It was not, however, by clamour that the contest was to 
be decided, and the desperate efforts of the assailants were 
met by an equally vigorous defence on the part of the be- 
sieged. The archers, trained by their woodland pastimes 
to the most effective use of the long-bow, shot, to use the 
appropriate phrase of the time, so “ wholly together,” that 

1 Fetlock ; an instrument fixed upon the leg of a horse to prevent 
him from running away. 

2 An heraldic bearing resembling a fetlock ; the same as “ prisoner’s 
bolt,” which fact explains Ivanhoe’s remark in the line below. 

3 Painted in blue. The criticism upon the accuracy of Scott’s 
heraldry in this passage, to which he replies in Note F, appeared in 
the Quarterly Review, Yol. xxvi, p. 135. 

4 Forward! 

6 To the rescue ! 


IVANHOE 


319 


no point at which a defender could show the least part of 
his person escaped their cloth-yard shafts. By this heavy 
discharge, which continued as thick and sharp as hail, 
while, notwithstanding, every arrow had its individual aim, 
and flew by scores together against each embrasure and 
opening in the parapets, as well as at every window where 
a defender either occasionally had post or might be sus- 
pected to he stationed, — by this sustained discharge, two 
or three of the garrison were slain, and several others 
wounded. But, confident in their armour of proof, and 
in the cover which their situation afforded, the followers 
of Front-de-Bceuf, and his allies, showed an obstinacy in 
defence proportioned to the fury of the attack, and replied 
with the discharge of their large cross-hows, as well as with 
their long-bows,' slings, and other missile weapons, to the 
close and continued shower of arrows; and, as the assailants 
were necessarily hut indifferently protected, did consider- 
ably more damage than they received at their hand. The 
whizzing of shafts and of missiles, on both sides, was only 
interrupted by the shouts which arose when either side 
inflicted or sustained some notable loss. 

“ And I must lie here like a bedridden monk/’ exclaimed 
Ivanhoe, “ while the game that gives me freedom or death 
is played out by the hand of others! — Look from the win- 
dow once again, kind maiden, but beware that you are not 
marked bv the archers beneath — look out once more, and 
tell me if they yet advance to the storm/’ 

With patient courage, strengthened by the interval which 
she had employed in mental devotion, Rebecca again took 
post at the lattice, sheltering herself, however, so as not to 
be visible from beneath. 

“ What dost thou see, Rebecca?” again demanded the 
wounded knight. 

“ Nothing but the cloud of arrows flying so thick as to 
dazzle mine eyes, and to hide the bowmen who shoot them.” 

“ That cannot endure,” said Ivanhoe; “ if they press not 
right on to carry the castle by pure force of arms, the arch- 
ery may avail but little against stone walls and bulwarks. 
Look for the Knight of the Fetterlock, fair Rebecca, and 
see how he hears himself; for as the leader is, so will his 
followers be.” 

“ I see him not,” said Rebecca. 


320 


IVANHOE 


“Foul craven! ?? exclaimed Ivanhoe; “does he blench 
from the helm when the wind blows highest? ” 

“He blenches not! he blenches not! ” said Rebecca, “I 
see him now; he leads a body of men close under the outer 
barrier of the barbican.* — They pull down the piles and 
palisades; they hew down the barriers with axes. — His high 
black plume floats abroad over the throng, like a raven over 
the field of the slain. — They have made a breach in the 
barriers — they rush in — they are thrust back! — Front-de- 
Bceuf heads the defenders; I see his gigantic form above the 
press. They throng again to the breach, and the pass is 
disputed hand to hand, and man to man. God of Jacob! 
it is the meeting of two fierce tides — the conflict of two 
oceans moved by adverse winds ! 99 

She turned her head from the lattice, as if unable longer 
to endure a sight so terrible. 

“ Look forth again, Rebecca,” said Ivanhoe, mistaking 
the cause of her retiring; “the archery must in some degree 
have ceased, since they are now fighting hand to hand. — 
Look again, there is now less danger. 

Rebecca again looked forth, and almost immediately ex- 
claimed, “Holy prophets of the law! Front-de-Boeuf and 
the Black Knight fight hand to hand on the breach, amid 
the roar of their followers, who watch the progress of the 
strife — Heaven strike with the cause of the oppressed and 
of the captive ! 99 She then uttered a loud shriek, and ex- 
claimed, “ He is down! — he is down ! 99 

“Who is down?” cried Ivanhoe; “for our dear Lady’s 
sake, tell me which has fallen? 99 

“ The Black Knight,” answered Rebecca, faintly; then 
instantly again shouted with joyful eagerness — “ But no — 
but no! — the name of the Lord of Hosts be blessed! — he is 
on foot again, and fights as if there were twenty men’s 
strength in his single arm. His sword is broken — he 
snatches an axe from a yeoman — he presses Front-de-Boeuf 
with blow on blow. The giant stoops and totters like an 
oak under the steel of the woodman — he falls — he falls! ” 

* Every Gothic castle and city had, beyond the outer- walls, a forti- 
fication composed of palisades, called the barriers, which were often 
the scene of severe skirmishes, as these must necessarily be carried 
before the walls themselves could be approached. Many of those 
valiant feats of arms which adorn the chivalrous pages of Froissart 
took place at the barriers of besieged places. [Scott.] 


IVANHOE 


321 


“ Front-de-Boeuf ? ” exclaimed Ivanhoe. 

“ Front-de-Boeuf! ” answered the Jewess; “ his men rush 
to the rescue, headed by the haughty Templar — -their 
united force compels the champion to pause — they drag 
Front-de-Boeuf within the walls.” 

“ The assailants have won the barriers, have they not? ” 
said Ivanhoe. 

“ They have — -they have ! ” exclaimed Rebecca — •“ and 
they press the besieged hard upon the outer wall; some 
plant ladders, some swarm like bees, and endeavour to 
ascend upon the shoulders of each other. Down go stones, 
beams, and trunks of trees upon their heads, and as fast 
as they bear the wounded to the rear, fresh men supply 
their places in the assault. Great God! hast thou given 
men thine own image, that it should be thus cruelly defaced 
by the hands of their brethren! ” 

“ Think not of that,” said Ivanhoe; “ this is no time for 
such thoughts. Who yield? — who push their way?” 

“ The ladders are thrown down,” replied Rebecca, shud- 
dering; “ the soldiers lie grovelling under them like crushed 
reptiles. The besieged have the better.” 

“ Saint George strike for us! ” exclaimed the knight; “do 
the false yeomen give way? ” 

“No! ” exclaimed Rebecca, “ they bear themselves right 
yeomanly. The Black Knight approaches the postern with 
his huge axe — -the thundering blows which he deals, you 
may hear them above all the din and shouts of the battle. 
Stones and beams are hailed down on the bold champion — 
he regards them no more than if they were thistledown or 
feathers! ” 

“ By Saint John of Acre,” said Ivanhoe, raising himself 
joyfully on his couch, “ methought there was but one man 
in England that might do such a deed! ” 

“ The postern gate shakes,” continued Rebecca; “ it 
crashes — it is splintered by his blows — they rush in — the 
outwork is won. Oh, God! — they hurl the defenders from 
the battlements — they throw them into the moat. 0 men, 
if ye be indeed men, spare them that can resist no longer! ” 
“ The bridge — the bridge which communicates with the 
castle — have they won that pass? ” exclaimed Ivanhoe. 

“ No,” replied Rebecca; “ the Templar has destroyed 
the plank on which they crossed — few of the defenders 
21 


322 


IV AN HOE 


escaped with him into the castle — the shrieks and cries 
■which you hear tell the fate of others. Alas! — I see it is 
still more difficult to look upon victory than upon battle/ 7 

“ What do they now, maiden? 77 said Ivanhoe; “ look 
forth yet again — this is no time to faint at bloodshed. 77 

“ It is over for the time/ 7 answered Rebecca; “ our 
friends strengthen themselves within the outwork which 
they have mastered, and it affords them so good a shelter 
from the foemen’s shot that the garrison only bestow a 
few bolts on it from interval to interval, as if rather to 
disquiet than effectually to injure them. 77 

“ Our friends, 77 said Wilfred, “ will surely not- abandon 
an enterprise so gloriously begun and so happily attained. 
— 0 no! I will put my faith in the good knight whose axe 
hath rent heart-of-oak and bars of iron. — Singular, 77 he 
again muttered to himself, “ if there be two who can do 
a deed of such derring-do ! * — a fetterlock, and a shackle- 
bolt on a field sable — what may that mean? — Seest thou 

«/ a. 

nought else, Rebecca, by which the Black Knight may be 
distinguished ? 77 

“ Nothing, 77 said the Jewess; “ all about him is black as 
the wing of the night raven. Nothing can I spy that can 
mark him further — but having once seen him put forth 
his strength in battle, methinks I could know him again 
among a thousand warriors. He rushes to the fray as if he 
were summoned to a banquet. There is more than mere 
strength, there seems as if the whole soul and spirit of the 
champion were given to every blow which he deals upon his 
enemies. God assoilzie 1 him of the sin of bloodshed! — it is 
fearful, yet magnificent, to behold how the arm and heart of 
one man can triumph over hundreds. 77 

“ Rebecca, 77 said Ivanhoe, “ thou hast painted a hero; 
surely they rest but to refresh their force, or to provide 
the means of crossing the moat. Under such a leader as 
thou hast spoken this knight to be, there are no craven 
fears, no cold-blooded delays, no yielding up a gallant em- 
prize; since the difficulties which render it arduous render 
it also glorious. I swear by the honour of my house — I 
vow by the name of my bright lady-love, I would endure 
ten years 7 captivity to fight one day by that good knight’s 
side in such a quarrel as this! 77 

* Derring-do — desperate courage. [Scott.] Absolve. 


IVANIIOE 


323 


“ Alas,” said Rebecca, leaving her station at the window, 
and approaching the couch of the wounded knight, “ this 
impatient yearning after action — this struggling with and 
repining at your present weakness, will not fail to injure 
your returning health. How couldst thou hope to inflict 
wounds on others, ere that be healed which thou thyself 
hast received? ” 

Rebecca,” he replied, “ thou knowest not how impossi- 
ble it is for one trained to actions of chivalry to remain 
passive as a priest, or a woman, when they are acting deeds 
of honour around him. The love of battle is the food upon 
■which we live — the dust of the melee is the breath of our 
nostrils! We live not — we wish not to live — longer than 
while we are victorious and renowned. Such, maiden, are 
the laws of chivalry to which we are sworn, and to which 
we offer all that we hold dear.” 

“Alas!” said the fair Jewess, “and what is it, valiant 
knight, save an offering of sacrifice to a demon of vain 
glory, and a passing through the fire to Moloch 1 ?— What 
remains to you as the prize of all the blood you have spilled 
— of all the travail and pain you have endured — of all the 
tears which your deeds have caused, when death hath 
broken the strong man’s spear, and overtaken the speed of 
his war-horse ? ” 

“ What remains? ” cried Ivanhoe; “ glory, maiden, glory! 
which gilds our sepulchre and embalms our name.” 

“Glory?” continued Rebecca; “alas, is the rusted mail 
which hangs as a hatchment 2 over the champion’s dim and 
mouldering tomb — is the defaced sculpture of the inscrip- 
tion which the ignorant monk can hardly read to the en- 
quiring pilgrim — are these sufficient rewards for the sacri- 
fice of every kindly affection, for a life spent miserably that 
ye may make others miserable? Or is there such virtue in 
the rude rhymes of a wandering bard, that domestic love, 
kindly affection, peace and happiness, are so wildly bar- 
tered, to become the hero of those ballads which vagabond 
minstrels sing to drunken churls over their evening ale? ” 
“By the soul of Hereward! ” replied the knight impa- 

1 A form of Baal, the sun-god, worshipped among the Canaanitish 
and Semitic tribes with human sacrifices, which were burned in the 
fiery breast of the idol. 

2 A tablet displaying the escutcheon of a dead person, placed upon 
his house, or above the hearse or tomb. 


324 


IV AN IJOE 


tiently, “ thou speakest, maiden, of thou knowest not what. 
Thou wouldst quench the pure light of chivalry, which 
alone distinguishes the noble from the base, the gentle 
knight from the churl and the savage; which rates our life 
far, far beneath the pitch of our honour; raises us victorious 
over pain, toil, and suffering, and teaches us to fear no 
evil hut disgrace. Thou art no Christian, Rebecca; and to 
thee are unknown those high feelings which swell the 
bosom of a noble maiden when her lover hath done some 
deed of emprize which sanctions his flame. Chivalry! — 
why, maiden, she is the nurse of pure and high affection — 
the stay of the oppressed, the redresser of grievances, the 
curb of the power of the tyrant. Nobility were but an 
empty name without her, and liberty finds the best protec- 
tion in her lance and her sword.” 

“ I am, indeed,” said Rebecca, “ sprung from a race 
whose courage was distinguished in the defence of their 
own land, but who warred not, even while yet a nation, 
save at the command of the Deity, or in defending their 
country from oppression. The sound of the trumpet wakes 
J udah no longer, and her despised children are now but the 
unresisting victims of hostile and military oppression. 
Well hast thou spoken, Sir Knight, — until the God of 
J acob shall raise up for his chosen people a second Gideon , 1 
or a new Maccabeus , 2 it ill beseemeth the Jewish damsel 
to speak of battle or of war.” 

The high-minded maiden concluded the argument in a 
tone of sorrow, which deeply expressed her sense of the 
degradation of her people, embittered perhaps by the idea 
that Ivanhoe considered her as one not entitled to interfere 
in a case of honour, and incapable of entertaining or ex- 
pressing sentiments of honour and generosity. 

“ How little he knows this bosom,” she said, “ to imagine 
that cowardice or meanness of soul must needs be its guests, 
because I have censured the fantastic chivalry of the Naza- 
renes! Would to heaven that the shedding of mine own 
blood, drop by drop, could redeem the captivity of Judah! 

1 Judges yii. 

2 One of a family of heroes who became the deliverers of Judaea 
during the persecution of the Syrian King Antiochus Epiphanes 
(175-t64 b.c.) and established a dynasty of priest-kings which 
endured more than a century. See Longfellow’s Judas Maccabceus. 


IVANHOE 


325 


Nay, would to God it could avail to set free my father, and 
this his benefactor, from the chains of the oppressor! The 
proud Christian should then see whether the daughter of 
God’s chosen people dared not to die as bravely as the vain- 
est Nazarene maiden that boasts her descent from some 
petty chieftain of the rude and frozen north! ” 

She then looked towards the couch of the wounded 
knight. 

“ He sleeps/’ she said; “ nature exhausted by sufferance 1 
and the waste of spirits, his wearied frame embraces the 
first moment of temporary relaxation to sink into slumber. 
Alas! is it a crime that I should look upon him, when it 
may be for the last time ? — when yet hut a short space, and 
those fair features will he no longer animated by the hold 
and buoyant spirit which forsakes them not even in sleep! 
— When the nostril shall be distended, the mouth agape, 
the eyes fixed and bloodshot; and when the proud and noble 
knight may be trodden on by the lowest caitiff of this 
accursed castle, yet stir not when the heel is lifted up 
against him! — And my father! — oh, my father! evil is it 
with his daughter, when his grey hairs are not remembered 
because of the golden locks of youth! — What know I hut 
that these evils are the messengers of Jehovah’s wrath to 
the unnatural child, who thinks of a stranger’s captivity 
before a parent’s? who forgets the desolation of Judah, and 
looks upon the comeliness of a Gentile and a stranger? — 
But I will tear this folly from my heart, though every 
fibre bleed as I rend it away! ” 

She wrapped herself closely in her veil, and sat down 
at a distance from the couch of the wounded knight, with 
her back turned towards it, fortifying, or endeavouring to 
fortify her mind, not only against the impending evils from 
without, but also against those treacherous feelings which 
assailed her from within. 

1 Suffering. 

[This chapter is one of the most famous in the whole range of 
English fiction, and is an admirable example of Scott’s power of 
vigorous, impassioned description. The device of making the ob- 
server of the action relate it to another, who is unable to witness it, 
is at least as old as the story of Bluebeard. It has been skilfully 
employed in Rossetti’s Sister Helen, Tennyson’s Harold (Act v), and 
elsewhere.] 


CHAPTER XXX 


Approach the chamber, look upon his bed. 

His is the passing of no peaceful ghost, 

Which, as the lark arises to the sky, 

’Mid morning’s sweetest breeze and softest dew, 

Is wing’d to heaven by good men’s sighs and tears ! — 

Anselm parts otherwise. 

Old Play } 

During the interval of quiet which followed the first 
success of the besiegers, while the one party was preparing 
to pursue their advantage, and the other to strengthen their 
means of defence, the Templar and De Bracy held brief 
council together in the hall of the castle. 

“ Where is Front-de-Boeuf ? ” said the latter, who had 
superintended the defence of the fortress on the other side; 
“ men say he hath been slain.” 

“ He lives,” said the Templar coolly, “ lives as yet; but 
had he worn the bull’s head of which he bears the name, 
and ten plates of iron to fence it withal, he must have gone 
down before yonder fatal axe. Yet a few hours, and Front- 
de-Boeuf is with his fathers — a powerful limb lopped off 
Prince John’s enterprise.” 

“ And a brave addition to the kingdom of Satan,” said 

1 “The scraps of poetry which have been in most cases tacked to 
the beginning of chapters in these novels are sometimes quoted 
either from reading or from memory, but, in the general case, are 
pure invention. I found it too troublesome to turn to the collection 
of the British poets to discover apposite mottoes, and in the situation 
of the theatrical machinist, who, when the white papetf which 
represented his shower of snow was exhausted, continued the storm 
by snowing brown, I drew on my memor/ as long as I couild, and, 
when that failed, eked it out with invention. I believe that, in some 
cases, when actual names are affixed to the supposed quotations, it 
would be to little purpose to seek them in the works of the authors 
referred to. In some cases I have been entertained when Dr. Watts 
and other grave authors have been ransacked in vain for stanzas for 
which the novelist alone was responsible.” — Scott’s Introduction to 
Chronicles of the Canongate. See also Lockhart’s Life of Scott, 
Vol. iv, 292, and ix, 212. 


IVANIIOE 


327 


De Bracy; “this comes of reviling saints and angels, and 
ordering images of holy things and holy men to be flung 
down on the heads of these rascaille yeomen.” 

“ Bo to — thou art a fool,” said the Templar; “ thy super- 
stition is upon a level with Front-de-Boeuf’s want of faith; 
neither of you can render a reason for your belief or un- 
belief.” 

“ Benedicite , 1 Sir Templar,” replied De Bracy, “ I pray 
you to keep better rule with your tongue when I am the 
theme of it. By the Mother of Heaven, I am a better 
Christian man than thou and thy fellowship; for the bruit 2 
goeth shrewdly out, that the most holy Order of the Tem- 
ple of Zion nurseth not a few heretics within its bosom, 
and that Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert is of the number.” 

“ Care not thou for such reports,” said the Templar; 
“ but let us think of making good the castle. — How fought 
these villain yeomen on thy side? ” 

“ Like fiends incarnate,” Said De Bracy. “ They swarmed 
close up to the walls, headed, as I think, by the knave who 
won the prize at the archery, for I knew his horn and bal- 
dric. And this is old Fitzurse’s boasted policy, encouraging 
these malapert 3 knaves to rebel against us! Had I not 
been armed in proof, the villain had marked me down seven 
times with as little remorse as if I had been a buck in 
season. He told every rivet on my armour with a cloth- 
yard shaft, that rapped against my ribs with as little com- 
punction as if my bones had been of iron — but that I wore 
a shirt of Spanish mail under my plate-coat, I had been 
fairly sped.” 

“But you maintained your post?” said the Templar. 
“ We lost the outwork on our part.” 

“ That is a shrewd loss,” said De Bracy; “ the knaves 
will find cover there to assault the castle more closely, and 
may, if not well watched, gain some unguarded corner of 
a tower, or some forgotten window, and so break in upon us. 
Our numbers are too few for the defence of every point, 
and the men complain that they can nowhere show them- 
selves, but they are the mark for as many arrows as a parish- 
butt 4 on a holyday even. Front-de-Boeuf is dying too, so 
we shall receive no more aid from his bulks head and brutal 

1 Bless you ! 2 Rumor. 

3 Impudent. 4 A target for public archery practice. 


328 


IVANHOE 


strength. How think you, Sir Brian, were we not better 
make a virtue of necessity, and compound with the rogues 
by delivering up our prisoners ? ” 

“ How? ” exclaimed the Templar; “ deliver up our pris- 
oners, and stand an object alike of ridicule and execration, 
as the doughty warriors who dared by a night-attack to 
possess themselves of the persons of a party of defenceless 
travellers, yet could not make good a strong castle against 
a vagabond troop of outlaws, led by swineherds, jesters, and 
the very refuse of mankind? — Shame on thy counsel, 
Maurice de Bracy! — The ruins of this castle shall bury both 
my body and my shame, ere I consent to such base and dis- 
honourable composition.” 

“ Let us to the walls, then,” said De Bracy, carelessly; 
“ that man never breathed, he he Turk or Templar, who 
held life at lighter rate than I do. But I trust there is no 
dishonour in wishing I had here some two scores of my 
gallant troop of Free Companions? — Oh, my brave lances! 
if ye knew hut how hard your captain were this day bestead, 
how soon should I see my banner at the head of your clump 
of spears! And how short while would these rabble villains 
stand to endure your encounter! ” 

“ Wish for whom thou wilt,” said the Templar, “ but let 
us make what defence we can with the soldiers who remain 
— they are chiefly Front-de-Bceuf ? s followers, hated by the 
English for a thousand acts of insolence and oppression.” 

“ The better,” said De Bracy; “ the rugged slaves will 
defend themselves to the last drop of their blood, ere they 
encounter the revenge of the peasants without. Let us up 
and he doing, then, Brian de Bois-Ctuilhert; and, live or 
die, thou shalt see Maurice de Bracy hear himself this day 
as a gentleman of blood and lineage.” 

“To the walls! ” answered the Templar; and they both 
ascended the battlements to do all that skill could dictate, 
and manhood accomplish, in defence of the place. They 
readily agreed that the point of greatest danger was that 
opposite to the outwork of which the assailants had pos- 
sessed themselves. The castle, indeed, was divided from 
that barbican by the moat, and it was impossible that the 
besiegers could assail the postern-door, with which the 
outwork corresponded, without surmounting that obstacle; 
but it was the opinion both of the Templar and De Bracy 


IV AN HOE 


329 


that the besiegers, if governed by the same policy their 
leader had already displayed, would endeavour, by a 
formidable assault, to draw the chief part of the defenders’ 
observation to this point, and take measures to avail them- 
selves of every negligence which might take place in the 
defence elsewhere. To guard against such an evil, their 
numbers only permitted the knights to place sentinels from 
space to space along the walls in communication with each 
other, who might give the alarm whenever danger was 
threatened. Meanwhile, they agreed that De Bracy should 
command the defence at the postern, and the Templar 
should keep with him a score of men or thereabouts as a 
body of reserve, ready to hasten to any other point which 
might be suddenly threatened. The loss of the barbican 
had also this unfortunate effect, that, notwithstanding the 
superior height of the castle walls, the besieged could not 
see from them, with the same precision as before, the 
operations of the enemy; for some straggling underwood 
approached so near the sallyport of the outwork, that 
the assailants might introduce into it whatever force 
they thought proper, not only under cover, but even with- 
out the knowledge of the defenders. Utterly uncertain, 
therefore, upon what point the storm was to burst, De 
Bracy and his companion were under the necessity of pro- 
viding against every possible contingency, and their fol- 
lowers, however brave, experienced the anxious dejection of 
mind incident to men enclosed by enemies who possessed 
the power of choosing their time and mode of attack. 

Meanwhile, the lord of the beleaguered and endangered 
castle lay upon a bed of bodily pain and mental agony. 
He had not the usual resource of bigots in that superstitious 
period, most of whom were wont to atone for the crimes 
they were guilty of by liberality to the church, stupifying 
by this means their terrors by the idea of atonement and 
forgiveness; and although the refuge which success thus 
purchased was no more like to the peace of mind which 
follows on sincere repentance than the turbid stupefaction 
procured by opium resembles healthy and natural slumbers, 
it was still a state of mind preferable to the agonies of 
awakened remorse. But among the vices of Front-de- 
Bceuf, a hard and griping man, avarice was predominant; 
and he preferred setting church and churchmen at defiance, 


330 


1VANHOE 


to purchasing from them pardon and absolution at the 
price of treasure and of manors. Nor did the Templar, 
an infidel of another stamp, justly characterise his associate, 
when he said Front-de-Boeuf could assign no cause for his 
unbelief and contempt for the established faith; for the 
Baron would have alleged that the Church sold her w T ares 
too dear, that the spiritual freedom which she put up to 
sale was only to be bought like that of the chief captain of 
J erusalem, “ with a great sum /’ 1 and Front-de-Boeuf pre- 
ferred denying the virtue of the medicine to paying the 
expense of the physician. 

But the moment had now arrived when earth and all his 
treasures were gliding from before his eyes, and when the 
savage Baron’s heart, though hard as a nether millstone, 
became appalled as he gazed forward into the waste dark- 
ness of futurity. The fever of his body aided the impa- 
tience and agony of his mind, and his death-bed exhibited 
a mixture of the newly awakened feelings of horror, com- 
bating with the fixed and inveterate obstinacy of his dis- 
position; — a fearful state of mind, only to be equalled in 
those tremendous regions where there are complaints with- 
out hope, remorse without repentance, a dreadful sense of 
present agony, and a presentiment that it cannot cease or 
be diminished! 

“ Where be these dog-priests now,” growled the Baron, 
“ who set such price on their ghostly mummery? — where 
be all those unshod Carmelites, for whom old Front-de- 
Boeuf founded the convent of St. Anne, robbing his heir 
of many a fair rood of meadow, and many a fat field and 
close 2 — where be the greedy hounds now? — Swilling, I 
warrant me, at the ale, or playing their juggling tricks at 
the bedside of some miserly churl. — Me, the heir of their 
founder — me, whom their foundation binds them to pray 
for — me — ungrateful villains as they are! — they suffer to 
die like the houseless dog on yonder common, unshriven 3 
and unhouseled 4 ! — Tell the Templar to come hither — he 
is a priest, and may do something. But no! — as well con- 
fess myself to the devil as to Brian de Bois-Cuilbert, who 
recks neither of heaven nor of hell. — I have heard old men 

1 Acts xxii. 28. 2 Enclosure. 

3 Without confession and absolution. 

4 Without having received the sacrament. 


IV AN HOE 


331 


talk of prayer — prayer by their own voice — such need not 
to court or to bribe the false priest. But I — I dare not! ” 

“ Lives Reginald Front-de-Boeuf,” said a broken and 
shrill voice close by his bedside, “ to say there is that which 
he dares not! ” 

The evil conscience and the shaken nerves of Front-de- 
Boeuf heard, in this strange interruption to his soliloquy, 
the voice of one of those demons who, as the superstition 
of the times believed, beset the beds of dying men to dis- 
tract their thoughts, and turn them from the meditations 
which concerned their eternal welfare. He shuddered 
and drew himself together; but, instantly summoning up 
his wonted resolution, he exclaimed, “ Who is there? — what 
art thou, that darest to echo my words in a tone like that 
of the night-raven? — Come before my couch that I may 
see thee.” 

“ I am thine evil angel, Reginald Front-de-Boeuf,” re- 
plied the voice. 

“ Let me behold thee then in thy bodily shape, if thou 
be’st indeed a fiend,” replied the dying knight ; “ think 
not that I will blench from thee. — By the eternal dungeon, 
could I but grapple with these horrors that hover round 
me, as I have done with mortal dangers, heaven or hell 
should never say that I shrunk from the conflict! ” 

“ Think on thy sins, Reginald Front-de-Boeuf,” said the 
almost unearthly voice, “ on rebellion, on rapine, on mur- 
der! — Who stirred up the licentious John to war against 
his grey-headed father — against his generous brother? ” 

“ Be thou fiend, priest, or devil,” replied Front-de-Boeuf, 
“ thou liest in thy throat! — Hot I stirred John to rebellion 
— not I alone — there were fifty knights and barons, the 
flower of the midland counties — better men never laid lance 
in rest — and must I answer for the fault done by fifty? — 
False fiend, I defy thee! Depart, and haunt my couch no 
more — let me die in peace if thou be mortal — if thou be 
a demon, thy time is not yet come.” 

“ In peace thou shalt not die,” repeated the voice; 
“ even in death shalt thou think on thy murders — on the 
groans which this castle has echoed — on the blood that is 
engrained in its floors! ” 

“ Thou canst not shake me by thy petty malice,” an- 
swered Front-de-Bceuf, with a ghastly and constrained 


332 


IVANEOE 


laugh. “ The infidel Jew — it was merit with heaven to 
deal with him as I did, else wherefore are men canonized 
who dip their hands in the blood of Saracens? — The 
Saxon porkers whom I have slain, they w r ere the foes of my 
country, and of my lineage, and of my liege lord. — Ho! ho! 
thou seest there is no crevice in my coat of plate. Art 
thou fled? — art thou silenced? ” 

“ No, foul parricide! ” replied the voice; “ think of thy 
father! — think of his death! — think of his banquet-room 
flooded with his gore, and that poured forth by the hand 
of a son! ” 

“ Ha ! ” answered the Baron, after a long pause, “ an thou 
knowest that, thou art indeed the author of evil, and as 
omniscient as the monks call thee! — That secret I deemed 
locked in my own breast, and in that of one besides — the 
temptress, the partaker of my guilt. — Go, leave me, fiend! 
and seek the Saxon witch Ulrica, who alone could tell thee 
what she and I alone witnessed. — Go, I say, to her, who 
washed the wounds, and straighted the corpse, and gave to 
the slain man the outward show of one parted in time and 
in the course of nature — Go to her, she was my temptress, 
the foul provoker, the more foul rewarder, of the deed — 
let her, as well as I, taste of the tortures which anticipate 
hell! ” 

“ She already tastes them/’ said Ulrica, stepping before 
the couch of Front-de-Boeuf; “ she hath long drunken of 
this cup, and its bitterness is now sweetened to see that thou 
dost partake it. — Grind not thy teeth, Front-de-Boeuf — roll 
not thine eyes — clench not thine hand, nor shake it at me 
with that gesture of menace! — The hand which, like that 
of thy renowned ancestor who gained thy name, could have 
broken with one stroke the skull of a mountain-bull, is 
now unnerved and powerless as mine own! ” 

“ Vile, murderous hag! ” replied Front-de-Boeuf; “ detes- 
table screech-owl! it is then thou who art come to exult over 
the ruins thou hast assisted to lay low? ” 

“ Ay, Reginald Front-de-Boeuf,” answered she, “ it is 
Ulrica! — it is the daughter of the murdered Torquil Wolf- 
ganger! — it is the sister of his slaughtered sons! — it is she 
who demands of thee, and of thy father’s house, father and 
kindred, name and fame — all that she has lost by the name 
of Front-de-Boeuf! — Think of my wrongs, Front-de-Boeuf, 


IVANHOE 


333 


and answer me if I speak not truth. Thou hast been my 
evil angeb and I will he thine. I will dog thee till the 
very instant of dissolution! ” 

“ Detestable fury ! 99 exclaimed Front-de-Boeuf, “ that 
moment shalt thou never witness. Ho! Giles, Clement, 
and Eustace! Saint Maur and Stephen! seize this damned 
witch, and hurl her from the battlements headlong — she 
has betrayed us to the Saxon! — Ho! Saint Maur! Clement! 
false-hearted knaves, where tarry ye ? ” 

“ Call on them again, valiant Baron,” said the hag, with 
a smile of grisly mockery; “ summon thy vassals around 
thee, doom them that loiter to the scourge and the dun- 
geon. But know, mighty chief,” she continued, suddenly 
changing her tone, “ thou shalt have neither answer, nor 
aid, nor obedience at their hands. — Listen to these horrid 
sounds,” for the din of the recommenced assault and 
defence now rung fearfully loud from the battlements of 
the castle; “in that war-cry is the downfall of thy house. 
The blood-cemented fabric of Front-de-BoeuFs power 
totters to the foundation, and before the foes he most 
despised! — The Saxon, Reginald! — the scorned Saxon as- 
sails thy walls! — Why liest thou here, like a worn-out hind, 
when the Saxon storms thy place of strength ? ” 

“ God and fiends ! 99 exclaimed the wounded knight; “ 0 
for one moment’s strength, to drag myself to the melee , 
and perish as becomes my name! ” 

“ Think not of it, valiant warrior! ” replied she; “thou 
shalt die no soldier’s death, but perish like the fox in his 
den, when the peasants have set fire to the cover around 
it.” 

“Hateful hag! thou liest!” exclaimed Front-de-Boeuf; 
“ my followers bear them bravely — my walls are strong and 
high — my comrades in arms fear not a whole host of 
Saxons, were they headed by Hengist and Horsa! — The 
war-cry of the Templar and of the Free Companions rises 
high over the conflict! And by mine honour, when we 
kindle the blazing beacon, for joy of our defence, it shall 
consume thee, body and bones; and I shall live to hear thou 
art gone from earthly fires to those of that hell which 
never sent forth an incarnate fiend more utterly diaboli- 
cal!” 

“ Hold thy belief,” replied Ulrica, “ till the proof reach 


334 


I VAN HOE 


thee. But no! ” she said, interrupting herself, “ thou shalt 
know, even now, the doom which all thy power, strength, 
and courage, is unable to avoid, though it is prepared for 
thee by this feeble hand. Markest thou the smouldering 
and suffocating vapour which already eddies in sable folds 
through the chamber? — Didst thou think it was but the 
darkening of thy bursting eyes — the difficulty of thy cum- 
bered breathing? — No! Front-de-Boeuf, there is another 
cause. Rememberest thou the magazine of fuel that is 
stored beneath these apartments? ” 

“ Woman! ” he exclaimed with fury, “ thou hast not set 
fire to it? — By heaven, thou hast, and the castle is in 
flames! ” 

“They are fast rising at least,” said Ulrica, with frightful 
composure; “and a signal shall soon wave to warn the be- 
siegers to press hard upon those who would extinguish 
them. — Farewell, Front-de-Boeuf! — May Mista, Skogula, 
and Zernebock, gods of the ancient Saxons — fiends, as the 
priests now call them — supply the place of comforters at 
your dying bed, which Ulrica now relinquishes! — But 
know, if it will give thee comfort to know it, that Ulrica is 
bound to the same dark coast with thyself, the companion 
of thy punishment as the companion of thy guilt. — And 
now, parricide, farewell for ever! — May each stone of this 
vaulted roof find a tongue to echo that title into thine ear!” 

So saying, she left the apartment; and Front-de-Boeuf 
could hear the crash of the ponderous key as she locked 
and double-locked the door behind her, thus cutting off 
the most slender chance of escape. In the extremity of 
agony he shouted upon his servants and allies — “ Stephen 
and Saint Maur! — Clement and Giles! — I burn here un- 
aided! — To the rescue — to the rescue, brave Bois-Guilbert, 
valiant De Bracy! — It is Front-de-Boeuf who calls! — It is 
your master, ye traitor squires! — Your ally — your brother 
in arms, ye perjured and faithless knights! — all the curses 
due to traitors upon your recreant heads, do you abandon 
me to perish thus miserably! — They hear me not — they 
cannot hear me — my voice is lost in the din of battle. — The 
smoke rolls thicker and thicker — the fire has caught upon 
the floor below. 0 for one draught of the air of heaven, 
were it to be purchased by instant annihilation! ” And in 
the mad frenzy of despair, the wretch now shouted with the 


1 VAN HOE 


335 


shouts of the fighters, now muttered curses on himself, on 
mankind, and on Heaven itself. — “ The red fire flashes 
through the thick smoke!” he exclaimed; “ the demon 
marches against me under the banner of his own element. 
Foul spirit, avoid! — I go not with thee without my com- 
rades — all, all are thine, that garrison these walls — Think- 
est thou Front-de-Bceuf will be singled out to go alone? — 
No — the infidel Templar — the licentious De Braey — 
Ulrica, the foul, murdering strumpet — the men who aided 
my enterp rises — the dog Saxons and accursed Jews, who 
are my prisoners — all, all shall attend me — a goodly fellow- 
ship as ever took the downward road. Ha, ha, ha! ” and 
he laughed in his frenzy till the vaulted roof rang again. 
“ Who laughed there?” exclaimed Front-de-Boeuf, in al- 
tered mood, for the noise of the conflict did not prevent 
the echoes of his own mad laughter from returning upon 
his ear — “ who laughed there? — Ulrica, was it thou? — • 
Speak, witch, and I forgive thee — for only thou or the 
fiend of hell himself could have laughed at such a moment. 
Avaunt — avaunt ! ” 

But it were impious to trace any farther the picture of 
the blasphemer and parricide’s deathbed. 

[In this death scene, and in similar passages elsewhere in Scott’s 
novels, do you think the author lays himself open to the charge of 
confounding tragedy with melodrama?] 


CHAPTER XXXI 


Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more, 

Or close the wall up with our English dead. 

And you, good yeomen, 

Whose limbs were made in England, show us here 
The mettle of your pasture — let us swear 
That you are worth your breeding. 

King Henry V. 

Cedric, although not greatly confident in Ulrica’s mes- 
sage, omitted not to communicate her promise to the Black 
Knight and Loeksley. They were well pleased to find they 
had a friend within the place, who might, in the moment 
of need, be able to facilitate their entrance, and readily 
agreed with the Saxon that a storm, under whatever dis- 
advantages, ought to be attempted, as the only means of 
liberating the prisoners now r in the hands of the cruel 
Front-de-Boeuf. 

“ The royal blood of Alfred is endangered,” said Cedric. 

“ The honour of a noble lady is in peril,” said the Black 
Knight. 

“ And, by the Saint Christopher at my baldric,” said the 
good yeoman, “ were there no other cause than the safety 
of that poor faithful knave, Wamba, I would jeopard a 
joint ere a hair of his head were hurt.” 

“ And so would I,” said the Friar; “ what, sirs! I trust 
well that a fool — I mean, d’ye see me, sirs, a fool that is 
free of his guild 1 and master of his craft, and can give as 
much relish and flavour to a cup of wine as ever a flitch 2 
of bacon can — I say, brethren, such a fool shall never want 
a wise clerk to pray for or fight for him at a strait, while 
I can say a mass or flourish a partisan.” 

And with that he made his heavy halberd to play around 
his head as a shepherd boy flourishes his light crook. 

1 Enjoying the special privileges or immunities of his guild. 

2 Side. 


IV AN HOE 


337 


“ True, Holy Clerk/’ said the Black Knight, “ true as if 
Saint Dunstan himself had said it. — And now, good Locks- 
ley, were it not well that noble Cedric should assume the 
direction of this assault ? ” 

“ Hot a jot I,” returned Cedric; “ I have never been wont 
to study either how to take or how to hold out those abodes 
of tyrannic power which the Normans have erected in this 
groaning land. I will fight among the foremost; hut my 
honest neighbours well know I am not a trained soldier in 
the discipline of wars, or the attack of strongholds.” 

“ Since it stands thus with noble Cedric,” said Locksley, 
“ I am most willing to take on me the direction of the 
archery; and ye shall hang me up on my own trysting-tr'ee, 1 
an the defenders he permitted to show themselves over the 
walls without being stuck with as many shafts as there are 
cloves in a gammon of bacon at Christmas.” 

“ Well said, stout yeoman,” answered the Black Knight; 
“ and if I be» thought worthy to have a charge in these 
matters, and can find among these brave men as many as 
are willing to follow a true English knight, for so I may 
surely call myself, I am ready, with such skill as my experi- 
ence has taught me, to lead them to the attack of these 
walls.” 

The parts being thus distributed to the leaders, they com- 
menced the first assault, of which the reader has already 
heard the issue. 

When the barbican was carried, the Sable Knight sent 
notice of the happy event to Locksley, requesting him at 
the same time to keep such a strict observation on the 
castle as might prevent the defenders from combining their 
force for a sudden sally, and recovering the outwork which 
they had lost. This the knight was chiefly desirous of 
avoiding, conscious that the men whom he led, being hasty 
and untrained volunteers, imperfectly armed and unaccus- 
tomed to discipline, must, upon any sudden attack, fight at 
great disadvantage with the veteran soldiers of the Norman 
knights, who were well provided with arms both defensive 
and offensive; and who, to match the zeal and high spirit 
of the besiegers, had all the confidence which arises from 
perfect discipline and the habitual use of weapons. 

The knight employed the interval in causing to be con- 
1 See the close of the chapter. 


22 


338 


IV AN HOE 


structcd a sort of floating bridge, or long raft, by means of 
which he hoped to cross the moat in despite of the resist- 
ance of the enemy. This was a work of some time, which 
the leaders the less regretted, as it gave Ulrica leisure to 
execute her plan of diversion in their favour, whatever that 
might be. 

When the raft was completed, the Black Knight ad- 
dressed the besiegers: — “ It avails not waiting here longer, 
my friends; the sun is descending to the west — and I have 
that upon my hands which will not permit me to tarry with 
you another day. Besides, it will be a marvel if the horse- 
men come not upon us from York, unless we speedily ac- 
complish our purpose. Wherefore, one of ye go to Locksley, 
and bid him commence a discharge of arrows on the oppo- 
site side of the castle, and move forward as if about to 
assault it; and you, true English hearts, stand by me, and 
be ready to thrust the raft endlong over the moat whenever 
the postern on our side is thrown open. Follow me boldly 
across, and aid me to burst yon sallyport in the main wall 
of the castle. As many of you as like not this sendee, or 
are but ill armed to meet it, do you man the top of the out- 
work, draw your bowstrings to your ears, and mind you 
quell with your shot whatever shall appear to man the 
rampart. Koble Cedric, wilt thou take the direction of 
those which remain ? ” 

“ Kot so, by the soul of Hereward! ” said the Saxon; 
“ lead I cannot ; but may posterity curse me in my grave, if 
I follow not with the foremost wherever thou shalt point 
the way. The quarrel is mine, and well it becomes me to 
be in the van of the battle.” 

“ Yet, bethink thee, noble Saxon,” said the knight, 
“ thou hast neither hauberk, nor corslet, nor aught but that 
light helmet, target , 1 and sword.” 

“ The better! ” answered Cedric; “ I shall be the lighter 
to climb these walls. And, — forgive the boast, Sir Knight, 
— thou shalt this day see the naked breast of a Saxon as 
boldly presented to the battle as ever ye beheld the steel 
corslet of a Korman.” 

“ In the name of God, then,” said the knight, “ fling 
open the door, and launch the floating bridge.” 

The portal, which led from the inner wall of the barbican 
1 Targe ; a small shield or buckler. 


1 VANIK) E 


339 


to the moat, and which corresponded with a sallyport in 
the main wall of the castle, was now suddenly opened; the 
temporary bridge was then thrust forward, and soon flashed 
in the waters, extending its length between the castle and 
outwork, and forming a slippery and precarious passage for 
two men abreast to cross the moat. Well aware of the 
importance of taking the foe by surprise, the Black Knight, 
closely followed by Cedric, threw himself upon the bridge, 
and reached the opposite side. Here he began to thunder 
with his axe upon the gate of the castle, protected in part 
from the shot and stones cast by the defenders by the ruins 
of the former drawbridge, which the Templar had demol- 
ished in his retreat from the barbican, leaving the counter- 
poise 1 still attached to the upper part of the portal. The 
followers of the knight had no such shelter: two were 
instantly shot with cross-bow bolts, and two more fell into 
the moat; the others retreated back into the barbican. 

The situation of Cedric and of the Black Knight was now 
truly dangerous, and would have been still more so, but 
for the constancy of the archers in the barbican, who ceased 
not to shower their arrows upon the battlements, distracting 
the attention of those by whom they were manned, and 
thus affording a respite to their two chiefs from the storm 
of missiles which must otherwise have overwhelmed them. 
But their situation was eminently perilous, and was becom- 
ing more so with every moment. 

“ Shame on ye all! ” cried De Bracy to the soldiers 
around him; “ do ye call yourselves cross-bowmen, and let 
these two dogs keep their station under the walls of the 
castle? — Heave over the coping stones 2 from the battle- 
ments, an better may not be. Get pick-axe and levers, 
and down with that huge pinnacle!” pointing to a heavy 
piece of stone carved-work that projected from the parapet. 

At this moment the besiegers caught sight of the red 
flag upon the angle of the tower which Ulrica had described 
to Cedric. The stout yeoman Locksley was the first who 
was aware of it, as he was hasting to the outwork, impatient 
to see the progress of the assault. 

“ Saint George!” he cried, “ Merry Saint George for 
England! — To the charge, bold yeomen! — why leave ye the 

1 The weight for raising the drawbridge. 

8 The flat stones that surmounted the battlement, 


340 


IV AN HOE 


good knight and noble Cedric to storm the pass alone? — 
Make in, mad priest, show then canst fight for thy rosary, 
— make in, brave yeomen! The castle is ours, we have 
friends within. See yonder flag, it is the appointed signal 
— Torquilstone is ours! — Think of honour, think of spoil! 
One effort, and the place is ours! ” 

With that he bent his good bow, and sent a shaft right 
through the breast of one of the men-at-arms, who, under 
De Bracy’s direction, was loosening a fragment from one of 
the battlements to precipitate on the heads of Cedric and 
the Black Knight. A second soldier caught from the hands 
of the dying man the iron crow, with which he heaved 
at and had loosened the stone pinnacle, when, receiving 
an arrow through his head-piece, he dropped from the 
battlements into the moat a dead man. The men-at-arms 
were daunted, for no armour seemed proof against the shot 
of this tremendous archer. 

“ Do you give ground, base knaves! ” said De Bracy; 
“ Mount joye Saint Dennis 1 ! — Give me the lever! ” 

And, snatching it up, he again assailed the loosened 
pinnacle, which was of weight enough, if thrown down, not 
only to have destroyed the remnant of the drawbridge, 
which sheltered the two foremost assailants, but also to 
have sunk the rude floa>t of planks over which they had 
crossed. All saw the danger, and the boldest, even the 
stout Friar himself, avoided setting foot on the raft. Thrice 
did Locksley bend his shaft against De Bracy, and thrice 
did his arrow bound back from the knight’s armour of 
proof. 

“ Curse on thy Spanish steel-coat! ” said Locksley; “had 
English smith forged it, these arrows had gone through, 
an as if it had been silk or sendal.” 2 He then began to 
call out, “ Comrades! friends! noble Cedric! bear back, and 
let the ruin fall.” 

His warning voice was unheard, for the din which the 
knight himself occasioned by his strokes upon the postern 
would have drowned twenty war-trumpets. The faithful 
Gurth indeed sprung forward on the planked bridge, to 

1 A battle-cry of the French Crusaders. St. Denis suffered 
martyrdom, it is said, upon the hill called “ Mont-joie (Mount-joye) ” 
in Paris. 

2 A light, thinly woven stuff, often of silk. 


1 VAN HOE 


341 


warn Cedric of his impending fate, or to share it with him. 
But his warning would have come too late; the massive 
pinnacle already tottered, and lie Bracy, who still heaved 
at his task, would have accomplished it, had not the voice 
of the Templar sounded close in his ears: — 

“ All is lost, De Bracy; the castle burns.” 

“ Thou art mad to say so! ” replied the knight. 

“ It is all in a light flame on the western side. I have 
striven in vain to extinguish it.” 

With the stern coolness which formed the basis of his 
character, Brian de Bois-Guilbert communicated this hid- 
eous intelligence, which was not so calmly received by his 
astonished comrade. 

“Saints of Paradise!” said De Bracy; “what is to he 
done? I vow to Saint Nicholas of Limoges 1 a candlestick 
of pure gold ” 

“ Spare thy vow,” said the Templar, “ and mark me. 
Lead thy men down, as if to a sally; throw the postern-gate 
open — there are but two men who occupy the float; fling 
them into the moat, and push across for the barbican. I 
will charge from the main gate, and attack the barbican 
on the outside; and if we can regain that post, be assured we 
shall defend ourselves until we are relieved, or at least till 
they grant us fair quarter.” 

“ It is well thought upon,” said De Bracy; “ I will play 
my part — Templar, thou wilt not fail me? ” 

“ Hand and glove, I will not! ” said Bois-Guilbert. “ But 
haste thee, in the name of God! ” 

De Bracy hastily drew his men together, and rushed 
down to the postern-gate, which he caused instantly to be 
thrown open. But scarce was this done ere the portentous 
strength of the Black Knight forced his way inward in 
despite of De Bracy and his followers. Two of the fore- 
most instantly fell, and the rest gave way notwithstanding 
all their leader’s efforts to stop them. 

“Dogs! ” said De Bracy, “will ye let two men win our 
only pass for safety? ” 

“He is the devil! ” said a veteran man-at-arms, bearing 
back from the blows of their sable antagonist. 

“ And if he be the devil,” replied De Bracy, “ would 
you fly from him into the mouth of hell? — The castle 

1 A city in central France. 


342 


IV AN HOE 


burns behind us, villains! — let despair give you courage, 
or let me forward! I will cope with this champion my- 
self/’ 

And well and chivalrous did De Bracy that day maintain 
the fame he had acquired in the civil wars of that dreadful 
period. The vaulted passage to which the postern gave 
entrance, and in which these two redoubted champions 
were now fighting hand to hand, rung with the furious 
blows which they dealt each other, De Bracy with his sword, 
the Black Knight with his ponderous axe. At length the 
Norman received a blow which, though its force was partly 
parried by his shield, for otherwise never more would De 
Bracy have again moved limb, descended yet with such 
violence on his crest that he measured his length on the 
paved floor. 

“ Yield thee, De Bracy,” said the Black Champion, stoop- 
ing over him, and holding against the bars of his helmet 
the fatal poniard with which the knights dispatched their 
enemies, (and which was called the dagger of mercy,) — 
“ yield thee, Maurice de Bracy, rescue or no rescue, or thou 
art but a dead man.” 

“ I will not yield,” replied De Bracy faintly, “ to an un- 
known conqueror. Tell me thy name, or work thy pleasure 
on me — it shall never be said that Maurice de Bracy was 
prisoner to a nameless churl.” 

The Black Knight whispered something into the ear of 
the vanquished. 

“ I yield me to be true prisoner, rescue or no rescue,” 
answered the Norman, exchanging his tone of stern and 
determined obstinacy for one of deep though sullen sub- 
mission. 

“ Go to the barbican,” said the victor, in a tone of 
* authority, “ and there wait my further orders.” 

“ Yet first, let me say,” said De Bracy, “ what it imports 
thee to know. Wilfred of Ivanhoe is wounded and a pris- 
oner, and will perish in the burning castle without present 
help.” 

“ Wilfred of Ivanhoe!” exclaimed the Black Knight — 
“ prisoner, and perish! The life of every man in the castle 
shall answer it if a hair of his head be singed. — Show me 
his chamber! ” 

“ Ascend yonder winding stair,” said De Bracy; “ it leads 


IV AN HOB 


343 


to Ills apartment. Wilt thou not accept my guidance ? ” 
he added, in a submissive voice. 

“ No. To the barbican, and there wait my orders. I 
trust thee not, De Bracy.” 

During this combat and the brief conversation which 
ensued, Cedric, at the head of a body of men, among whom 
the Friar was conspicuous, had pushed across the bridge as 
soon as they saw the postern open, and drove hack the dis- 
pirited and despairing followers of De Bracy, of whom some 
asked quarter, some offered vain resistance, and the greater 
part fled towards the court-yard. De Bracy himself arose 
from the ground, and cast a sorrowful glance after his 
conqueror. “ He trusts me not! ” he repeated; “hut have 
I deserved his trust?” He then lifted his sword from 
the floor, took off his helmet in token of submission, and, 
going to the barbican, gave up his sword to Locksley, whom 
he met by the way. 

As the fire augmented, symptoms of it became soon 
apparent in the chamber where Ivanhoe was watched and 
tended by the Jewess Rebecca. He had been awakened 
from his brief slumber by the noise of the battle; and his 
attendant, who had, at his anxious desire, again placed her- 
self at the window to watch and report to him the fate of 
the attack, was for some time prevented from observing 
either, by the increase of the smouldering and stifling 
vapour. At length the volumes of smoke which rolled into 
the apartment — the cries for water, which were heard even 
above the din of the battle, made them sensible of the 
progress of this new danger. 

“ The castle burns,” said Rebecca; “ it burns! — What can 
we do to save ourselves? ” 

“ Fly, Rebecca, and save thine own life,” said Ivanhoe, 
“ for no human aid can avail me.” 

“ I will not fly,” answered Rebecca; “ we will he saved 
or perish together. And yet, great God! — my father, my 
father — what will be his fate! ” 

At this moment the door of the apartment flew open, and 
the Templar presented himself, — a ghastly figure, for his 
gilded armour was broken and bloody, and the plume was 
partly shorn away, partly burnt from his casque. “ I have 
found thee,” said he to Rebecca; “thou shalt prove I will 
keep my word to share weal and woe with thee. There is 


344 


1 VAN HOE 


but one path to safety, I have cut my way through fifty 
dangers to point it to thee — up, and instantly follow me!”* 

“ Alone,” answered Rebecca, “ I will not follow thee. If 
thou wert born of woman — if thou hast but a touch of 
human charity in thee — if thy heart be not hard as thy 
breastplate — save my aged father — save this wounded 
knight ! ” 

“ A knight,” answered the Templar, with his character- 
istic calmness, “ a knight, Rebecca, must encounter his 
fate, whether it meet him in the shape of sword or flame — 
and who recks how or where a Jew meets with his? ” 

“ Savage warrior,” said Rebecca, “ rather will I perish in 
the flames than accept safety from thee! ” 

“ Thou shalt not choose, Rebecca — once didst thou foil 
me, but never mortal did so twice.” 

So saying, he seized on the terrified maiden, who filled 
the air with her shrieks, and bore her out of the room in his 
arms in spite of her cries, and without regarding the 
menaces and defiance which Ivanhoe thundered against 
him. “ Hound of the Temple — stain to thine Order — set 
free the damsel! Traitor of Bois-Guilbert, it is Ivanhoe 
commands thee! — Villain, I will have thy heart’s blood! ” 

“ I had not found thee, Wilfred,” said the Black Knight, 
who at that instant entered the apartment, “ but for thy 
shouts.” 

“ If thou be’st true knight,” said Wilfred, “ think not of 
me — pursue yon ravisher — save the Lady Rowena — look to 
the noble Cedric! ” 

“ In their turn,” answered he of the fetterlock, “ but 
thine is first.” 

And seizing upon Ivanhoe, he bore him off with as much 
ease as the Templar had earned off Rebecca, rushed with 
him to the postern, and having there delivered his burden 
to the care of two yeomen, he again entered the castle to 
assist in the rescue of the other prisoners. 

One turret was now in bright flames, which flashed out 

* The author has some idea that this passage is imitated from the 
appearance of Philidaspes before the divine Mandane, when the city 
of Babylon is on fire, and he proposes to carry her from the flames. 
But the theft, if there be one, would be rather too severely punished 
by the penance of searching for the original passage through the in- 
terminable volumes of the Grand Cyrus. [Scott.] 


IVANEOE 


345 


furiously from window and shot-hole. But in other parts, 
the great thickness of the walls and the vaulted roofs of the 
apartments resisted the progress of the flames, and there 
the rage of man still triumphed, as the scarce more dreadful 
element held mastery elsewhere; for the besiegers pursued 
the defenders of the castle from chamber to chamber, and 
satiated in their blood the vengeance which had long ani- 
mated them against the soldiers of the tyrant Front-de- 
Bceuf. Most of the garrison resisted to the uttermost — few 
of them asked quarter — none received it. The air was 
filled with groans and clashing of arms — the floors were 
slippery with the blood of despairing and expiring 
wretches. 

Through this scene of confusion, Cedric rushed in quest 
of Bowena, while the faithful Gurth, following him closely 
through the melee, neglected his own safety while he strove 
to avert the blows that were aimed at his master. The 
noble Saxon was so fortunate as to reach his ward’s apart- 
ment just as she had abandoned all hope of safety, and, 
with a crucifix clasped in agony to her bosom, sat in ex- 
pectation of instant death. He committed her to the 
charge of Gurth, to be conducted in safety to the barbican, 
the road to which was now cleared of the enemy, and not 
yet interrupted by the flames. This accomplished, the 
loyal Cedric hastened in quest of his friend Afhelstane, 
determined, at every risk to himself, to save that last scion 
of Saxon royalty. But ere Cedric penetrated as far as the 
old hall in which he had himself been a prisoner, the in- 
ventive genius of Wamba had procured liberation for him- 
self and his companion in adversity. 

When the noise of the conflict announced that it was at 
the hottest, the Jester began to shout, with the utmost 
power of his lungs, “ Saint George and the dragon! — Bonny 
Saint George for merry England! — The castle is won! ” 
And these sounds he rendered yet more fearful, by banging 
against each other two or three pieces of rusty armour 
which lay scattered around the hall. 

A guard, which had been stationed in the outer, or ante- 
room, and whose spirits were already in a state of alarm, 
took fright at Wamba’ s clamour, and, leaving the door 
open behind them, ran to tell the Templar that foemen had 
entered the old hall. Meantime the prisoners found no 


346 


1VAN110E 


difficulty in making their escape into the anteroom, and 
from thence into the court of the castle, which was now 
the last scene of contest. Here sat the fierce Templar, 
mounted on horseback, surrounded by several of the gar- 
rison both on horse and foot, who had united their strength 
to that of this renowned leader, in order to secure the last 
chance of safety and retreat which remained to them. The 
drawbridge had been lowered by his orders, hut the passage 
was beset; for the archers, who had hitherto only annoyed 
the castle on that side by their missiles, no sooner saw the 
flames breaking out, and the bridge lowered, than they 
thronged to the entrance, as well to prevent the escape of 
the garrison as to secure their own share of booty ere the 
castle should be burnt down. On the other hand, a party 
of the besiegers who had entered by the postern were now 
issuing out into the court-yard, and attacking with fury the 
remnant of the defenders, who were thus assaulted on both 
sides at once. 

Animated, however, by despair, and supported by the 
example of their indomitable leader, the remaining soldiers 
of the castle fought with the utmost valour; and, being 
well armed, succeeded more than once in driving back the 
assailants, though much inferior in numbers. Rebecca, 
placed on horseback before one of the Templar’s Saracen 
slaves, was in the midst of the little party; and Bois-Guil- 
bert, notwithstanding the confusion of the bloody fray, 
showed every attention to her safety. Repeatedly he was 
by her side, and, neglecting his own defence, held before 
her the fence of his triangular steel-plated shield; and anon 
starting from his position by her, he cried his war-cry, 
dashed forward, struck to earth the most forward of the 
assailants, and was on the same instant once more at her 
bridle rein. 

Athelstane, who, as the reader knows, was slothful, but 
not cowardly, beheld the female form whom the Templar 
protected thus sedulously, and doubted not that it was 
Rowena whom the knight was carrying off, in despite of all 
resistance which could be offered. 

“ By the soul of Saint Edward,” he said, “ I will rescue 
her from yonder over-proud knight, and he shall die bv mv 
hand! ” 

“ Think what you do!” cried Wamba; “hasty hand 


IVAN110E 


347 


catches frog for fish. By my bauble/ yonder is none of my 
Lady Rowena — see but her long dark locks! — Nay, an ye 
will not know black from white, ye may be leader, but I 
will be no follower — no bones of mine shall be broken 
unless I know for whom. — And you without armour too! — • 
Bethink you, silk bonnet never kept out steel blade. — Nay, 
then, if wilful will to water, wilful must drench 2 — Dens 
vobiscum, most doughty Athelstane! ” — he concluded, 
loosening the hold which he had hitherto kept upon the 
Saxon’s tunic. 

To snatch a mace from the pavement, on which it lay 
beside one whose dying grasp had just relinquished it — 
to rush on the Templar’s band, and to strike in quick suc- 
cession to the right and left, levelling a warrior at each 
blow, was, for Athelstane’s great strength, now animated 
with unusual fury, but the work of a single moment; he 
was soon within two yards of Bois-Guilbert, whom he de- 
fied in his loudest tone. 

“ Turn, false-hearted Templar! let go her whom thou art 
unworthy to touch— turn, limb of a band of murdering and 
hypocritical robbers! ” 

“ Log! ” said the Templar, grinding his teeth, “ I will 
teach thee to blaspheme the holy Order of the Temple of 
Zion; ” and with these words, half-wheeling his steed, he 
made a demi-courbette 1 2 3 towards the Saxon, and rising in 
the stirrups, so as to take full advantage of the descent of 
the horse, he discharged a fearful blow upon the head of 
Athelstane. 

Well said Wamba, that silken bonnet keeps out no steel 
blade. So trenchant was the Templar’s weapon, that it 
shore asunder, as it had been a willow twig, the tough and 
plaited handle of the mace, which the ill-fated Saxon reared 
to parry the blow, and, descending on his head, levelled him 
with the earth. 

“Ha! Beau-seant ! ” exclaimed Bois-Guilbert, “ thus be 
it to the maligners of the Temple-knights! ” Taking ad- 
vantage of the dismay which was spread by the fall of 

1 A short stick with an ass’s head carved upon it, carried by fools 
as a badge of their profession. 

2 Drown. 

3 Forcing the horse to rise upon its hind legs, and advance in that 
position. 


348 1VANH6E 

Athelstane, and calling aloud, “ Those who would save 
themselves, follow me! ” he pushed across the drawbridge, 
dispersing the archers who would have intercepted them. 
He was followed by his Saracens, and some five or six men- 
at-arms, who had mounted their horses. The Templar’s 
retreat was rendered perilous by the numbers of arrows 
shot off at him and his party; hut this did not prevent him 
from galloping round to the barbican, of which, according 
to his previous plan, he supposed it possible He Bracy 
might have been in possession. 

“ He Bracy! De Bracy! ” he shouted, “ art thou there? ” 

“ I am here,” replied I)e Bracy, “ but I am a prisoner.” 

“ Can I rescue thee?” cried Bois-Guilbert. 

“ Ho,” replied De Bracy; “ I have rendered me, rescue or 
no rescue. I will be true prisoner. Save thyself — there 
are hawks abroad — put the seas betwixt you and England 
— I dare not say more.” 

“Well,” answered the Templar, “an thou wilt tarry 
there, remember I have redeemed word and glove. Be the 
hawks where they will, methinks the walls of the Precep- 
tory of Templestowe will be cover sufficient, and thither 
will I, like heron to her haunt.” 

Having thus spoken, he galloped off with his followers. 

Those of the castle who had not gotten to horse, still 
continued to fight desperately with the besiegers, after the 
departure of the Templar, but rather in despair of quarter 
than that they entertained any hope of escape. The fire 
was spreading rapidly through all parts of the castle, when 
Ulrica, who had first kindled it, appeared on a turret in the 
guise of one of the ancient furies, yelling forth a war-song, 
such as was of yore raised on the field of battle by the 
scalds 1 of the yet heathen Saxons. Her long, dishevelled 
grey hair flew back from her uncovered head; the inebri- 
ating delight of gratified vengeance contended in her eyes 
with the fire of insanity; and she brandished the distaff 
which she held in her hand, as if she had been one of the 
Fatal Sisters 2 who spin and abridge the thread of human 
life. Tradition has preserved some wild strophes of the 

1 The Scandinavian name for bard, poet. 

2 In the Greek mythology, their names were Clotho, who spins the 
thread of life ; Lachesis, who measures its length ; and Atropos, who 
cuts it. 


1VANH0E 


349 


barbarous hymn which she chanted wildly amid that scene 
of fire and of slaughter: — 


1 

Whet the bright steel, 

Sons of the White Dragon 1 ! 

Kindle the torch, 

Daughter of TIengist ! 

The steel glimmers not for the carving of the banquet, 

It is hard, broad, and sharply pointed ; 

The torch goeth not to the bridal chamber, 

It steams and glitters blue with sulphur. 

Whet the steel, the raven croaks ! 

Light the torch, Zernebock is yelling 1 
Whet the steel, sons of the Dragon ! 

Kindle the torch, daughter of Ilengist I 

2 

The black cloud is low over the thane’s castle ; 

The eagle screams — he rides on its bosom. 

Scream not, grey rider of the sable cloud, 

Thy banquet is prepared ! 

The maidens of Valhalla 2 look forth, 

The race of Ilengist will send them guests. 

Shake your black tresses, maidens of Valhalla ! 

And strike your loud timbrels for joy ! 

Many a haughty step bends to your halls, 

Many a helmed head. 

3 

Dark sits the evening upon the thane’s castle, 

The black clouds gather round ; 

Soon shall they be red as the blood of the valiant ! 

The destroyer of forests shall shake his red crest against them. 
He, the bright consumer of palaces, 

Broad waves he his blazing banner, 

Red, wide and dusky, 

Over the strife of the valiant : 

Ilis joy is in. the clashing swords and broken bucklers ; 

He loves to lick the hissing blood as it bursts warm from the 
wound ! 

4 

All must perish ! 

The sword cleaveth the helmet ; 

The strong armour is pierced by the lance ; 

1 An ancient battle-emblem of the Saxons. 

2 In Norse mythology, the warrior’s Paradise. The bodies of the 
dead were borne thither from the field of slaughter by the Valkyrie 
(Walkure), or “ choosers ” of the slain. Compare the previous refer- 
ences to Mista and Skogula. 


350 


IVAN HOE 


Fire devoureth the dwelling of princes, 

Engines break down the fences of the battle. 

All must perish ! 

The race of Hengist is gone — 

The name of Horsa is no more ! 

Shrink not then from your doom, sons of the sword ! 

Let your blades drink blood like wine ; 

Feast ye in the banquet of slaughter. 

By the light of the blazing halls ! 

Strong be your swords while your blood is warm, 

And spare neither for pity nor fear, 

For vengeance hath but an hour ; 

Strong hate itself shall expire ! 

I also must perish ! * 

The towering flames had now surmounted every obstruc- 
tion, and rose to the evening skies one huge and burning 
beacon, seen far and wide through the adjacent country. 
Tower after tower crashed down, with blazing roof and 
rafter; and the combatants were driven from the court- 
yard. The vanquished, of whom very few remained, scat- 
tered and escaped into the neighbouring wood. The 
victors, assembling in large bands, gazed with wonder, not 
unmixed with fear, upon the flames, in which their own 
ranks and arms glanced dusky red. The maniac figure of 
the Saxon Ulrica was for a long time visible on the lofty 
stand she had chosen, tossing her arms abroad with wild 
exultation, as if she reigned empress of the conflagration 
which she had raised. At length, with a terrific crash, 
the whole turret gave way, and she perished in the flames 
which had consumed her tyrant. An awful pause of horror 
silenced each murmur of the armed spectators, who, for 

* It will readily occur to the antiquary that these verses are in- 
tended to imitate the antique poetry of the Scalds — the minstrels of 
the old Scandinavians — the race, as the Laureate so happily terms 
them, 

“ Stern to inflict, and stubborn to endure, 

Who smiled in death.” 

The poetry of the Anglo-Saxons, after their civilisation and conver- 
sion, was of a different and softer character ; but in the circum- 
stances of Ulrica, she may be not unnaturally supposed to return to 
the wild strains which animated her forefathers during the time of 
Paganism and untamed ferocity. [Scott.] 

The verses also show traces of the Ossianic poetry so widely read 
in Scott’s time. For a close reproduction of the spirit and rhythmical 
effect of an Anglo-Saxon war poem, read Tennyson’s translation of 
the Battle of Brunanburh. 


IVANHOE 


351 


the space of several minutes, stirred not a finger, save to 
sign the cross. The voice of Locksley was then heard, 
“ Shout, yeomen! — the den of tyrants is no more! Let 
each bring his spoil to our chosen place of rendezvous at 
the Trysting-tree in the Harthill-walk; for there at break 
of day will we make just partition among our own 
bands, together with our worthy allies in this great deed 
of vengeance.” 

[This admirable chapter, the final one of the eleven devoted to the 
siege of Torquilstone, contains obviously one of the main climaxes of 
the book. It will be well for the reader to review the characters of 
the story and the general plot-movement up to this point, with the 
aim of seeing exactly what has been accomplished, and what still 
remains to be done by the author in satisfying the expectations that 
have been raised. The account of the capture of the castle will be 
most enjoyed by those readers who are able to form an exact picture of 
the building and its outworks. Compare the features of this siege 
with similar ones described in Old Mortality, Quentin Durward , 
Woodstock, Pevei'il of the Peak , and elsewhere. Is the manner of 
De Bracv’s submission an adequate indication of the real personality 
of the Black Knight ? Observe how Scott secures our sympathy for 
all of the personages in this chapter by assigning to each of them 
some brave or chivalrous action.] 


CHAPTER XXXII 


Trust me, each state must have its policies : 

Kingdoms have edicts, cities have their charters ; 

Even the wild outlaw, in his forest-walk, 

Keeps yet some touch of civil discipline ; 

For not since Adam wore his verdant apron, 

Hath man with man in social union dwelt, 

But laws were made to draw that union closer. 

Old Play. 

The daylight had dawned upon the glades of the oak 
forest. The green houghs glittered with all their pearls 
of dew. The hind led her fawn from the covert of high 
fern to the more open walks of the greenwood, and no 
huntsman was there to watch or intercept the stately hart, 
as he paced at the head of the antlerd herd. 

The outlaws were all assembled around the Trysting-tree 
in the Harthill-walk, where they had spent the night in 
refreshing themselves after the fatigues of the siege, some 
with wine, some with slumber, many with hearing and re- 
counting the events of the day, and computing the heaps 
of plunder which their success had placed at the disposal 
of their Chief. 

The spoils were indeed very large; for, notwithstanding 
that much was consumed, a great deal of plate, rich armour, 
and splendid clothing had been secured by the exertions of 
the dauntless outlaws, who could be appalled by no danger 
when such rewards were in view. Yet so strict were the 
laws of their society, that no one ventured to appropriate 
any part of the booty, which was brought into one common 
mass, to be at the disposal of their leader. 

The place of rendezvous was an aged oak; not, however, 
the same to which Locksley had conducted Gurth and 
Wamba in the earlier part of the story, but one which was 
the centre of a silvan amphitheatre, within half a mile of 
the demolished castle of Torquilstone. Here Locksley as- 


IV AN HOE 


353 


sumed his seat — a throne of turf erected under the twisted 
branches of the huge oak, and the silvan followers were 
gathered around him. He assigned to the Black Knight a 
seat at his right hand, and to Cedric a place upon his left. 

“ Pardon my freedom, noble sirs,” he said, “ hut in these 
glades I am monarch — they are my kingdom; and these my 
wild subjects would reck but little of my power were 1, 
within my own dominions, to yield place to mortal man. — 
Now, sirs, who hath seen our chaplain? where is our curtal 1 
Friar? A mass amongst Christian men best begins a busy 
morning.” — No one had seen the Clerk of Copmanhurst. 
“ Over God’s forhode 2 !” said the outlaw chief, “I trust the 
jolly priest hath hut abidden by the wine-pot a thought too 
late. Who saw him since the castle w r as ta’en ? ” 

“ I,” quoth the Miller, “ marked him busy about the 
door of a cellar, swearing by each saint in the calendar he 
would taste the smack of Front-de-Boeuf’s Gascoigne wine.” 

“ Now, the saints, as many as there be of them,” said the 
Captain, “ forefend, lest he has drunk too deep of the 
wine-butts, and perished by the fall of the castle! — Away, 
Miller! — take with you enow 3 of men, seek the place where 
you last saw him — throw water from the moat on the 
scorching ruins — I will have them removed stone by stone 
ere I lose my curtal Friar.” 

The numbers who hastened to execute this duty, con- 
sidering that an interesting division of spoil was about to 
take place, showed how much the troop had at heart the 
safety of their spiritual father. 

“ Meanwhile, let us proceed,” said Locksley; “ for when 
this hold deed shall he sounded abroad, the hands of De 
Bracy, of Malvoisin, and other allies of Front-de-Bceuf 
will he in motion against us, and it were well for our 
safety that we retreat from the vicinity. — Noble Cedric,” 
he said, turning to the Saxon, “ that spoil is divided into 
two portions; do thou make choice of that which best suits 
thee, to recompense thy people who were partakers with us 
in this adventure.” 

“ Good yeoman,” said Cedric, “ my heart is oppressed 

1 A friar wearing a short gown or habit, generally of a lower order. 
See Professor Child’s English and Scottish Ballads, v, 121. 

2 See page 104. 

3 Enough. 

23 


354 


IVANIIOE 


with sadness. The noble Athelstane of Coningsburgh is no 
more — the last sprout of the sainted Confessor 1 ! Hopes 
have perished with him which can never return! — A sparkle 
hath been quenched by his blood, which no human breath 
can again rekindle! My people, save the few who are now 
with me, do but tarry my presence to transport his hon- 
oured remains to their last mansion. The Lady Eowena 
is desirous to return to Rotherwood, and must be escorted 
by a sufficient force. I should, therefore, ere now, have 
left this place; and I waited — not to share the booty, for, 
so help me God and Saint Withold! as neither I nor any of 
mine will touch the value of a Hard, 2 3 — I waited but to 
render my thanks to thee and to thy bold yeomen, for the 
life and honour ye have saved.” 

“ Nay, but,” said the chief Outlaw, “ we did but half the 
work at most — take of the spoil what may reward your own 
neighbours and followers.” 

“ I am rich enough to reward them from mine own 
wealth,” answered Cedric. 

“ And some,” said Wamba, “ have been wise enough 
to reward themselves; they do not march off empty-handed 
altogether. We do not all wear motley.” 

“ They are welcome,” said Locksley; “ our laws bind 
none but ourselves.” 

“ But thou, my poor knave,” said Cedric, turning about 
and embracing his Jester, “ how shall I reward thee, who 
feared not to give thy body to chains and death instead of 
mine! — All forsook me, when the poor fool was faithful! ” 

A tear stood in the eye of the rough Thane as he spoke 
— a mark of feeling which even the death of Athelstane 
had not extracted; but there was something in the half- 
instinctive attachment of his clown that waked his nature 
more keenly than even grief itself. 

“ Nay,” said the Jester, extricating himself from his 
master’s caress, “ if you pay my service with the water of 
your eye, the Jester must weep for company, a^d then what 
becomes of his vocation? — But, uncle, if you would indeed 
pleasure me, I pray you to pardon my playfellow Gurth, 

1 Edward the Confessor left no descendants, as Scott knew perfectly 

well. 

3 A small French coin, not in use, however, until after the four- 
teenth century. 


IVANHOE 


355 


who stole a week from your service to bestow it on your 
son.” 

“ Pardon him! ” exclaimed Cedric; “ I will both pardon 
and reward him. — Kneel down, Gurth.” — The swineherd 
was in an instant at his master’s feet — “Theow and Esne * 
art thou no longer,” said Cedric, touching him with a 
wand; “Folk-free and Sacless \ art thou in town and 
from town, in the forest as in the field. A hide 1 of land 
I give to thee in my steads of Walbrugham, from me and 
mine to thee and thine aye and for ever; and God’s mal- 
ison 2 on his head who this gainsays! ” 

Ko longer a serf, but a freeman and a landholder, Garth 
sprung upon his feet, and twice bounded aloft to almost his 
own height from the ground. 

“ A smith and a file,” he cried, “ to do away the collar 
from the neck of a freeman! — Koble master! doubled is 
my strength by your gift, and doubly will I fight for you! — 
There is a free spirit in my breast — I am a man changed to 
myself and all around. — Ha, Pangs! ” he continued, — for 
that faithful cur, seeing his master thus transported, began 
to jump upon him, to express his sympathy, — ■“ knowest 
thou thy master still? ” 

“ Ay,” said Wamba, “ Pangs and I still know thee, 
Gurth, though we must needs abide by the collar; it is only 
thou art likely to forget both us and thyself.” 

“ I shall forget myself indeed ere I forget thee, true 
comrade,” said Gurth; “and were freedom fit for thee, 
Wamba, the master would not let thee want it.” 

“ Kay,” said Wamba, “ never think I envy thee, brother 
Gurth; the serf sits by the hall-fire when the freeman must 
forth to the field of battle. And what saith Aldhelm 3 of 
Malmsbury, — tf Better a fool at a feast than a wise man at 
a fray.’ ” 

The tramp of horses was now heard, and the Lady 
Eowena appeared, surrounded by several riders, and a 
much stronger party of footmen, who joyfully shook their 
pikes and clashed their brown-bills for joy of her freedom. 

* Thrall and bondsman. [Scott.] |A lawful freeman. [Scott.] 
See Kemble’s Saxons in England, Chap. viii. 

1 An old English land-measure, varying from 60 to 100 acres. 

2 Curse ; the opposite of “benison.” 

3 A well-known monk and writer of the seventh century. Malms- 
bury was a Benedictine monastery in Wiltshire. 


356 


IVAN IIO E 


She herself, richly attired, and mounted on a dark chest- 
nut palfrey, had recovered all the dignity of her manner, 
and only an unwonted degree of paleness showed the suffer- 
ings she had undergone. Her lovely brow, though sorrow- 
ful, bore on it a cast of reviving hope for the future, as well 
as of grateful thankfulness for the past deliverance. She 
knew that Ivanhoe was safe, and she knew that Athelstane 
was dead. The former assurance filled her with the most 
sincere delight; and if she did not absolutely rejoice at the 
latter, she might be pardoned for feeling the full advantage 
of being freed from further persecution on the only subject 
in which she had ever been contradicted by her guardian 
Cedric. 

As Rowena bent her steed towards Locksley’s seat, that 
bold yeoman, with all his followers, rose to receive her, 
as if by a general instinct of courtesy. The blood rose to her 
cheeks as, courteously waving her hand, and bending so low 
that her beautiful and loose tresses were for an instant mixed 
with the flowing mane of her palfrey, she expressed in few 
but apt words her obligations and her gratitude to Locksley 
and her other deliverers . — “ God bless you, brave men,” she 
concluded, “ God and Our Lady bless you and requite you 
for gallantly perilling yourselves in the cause of the op- 
pressed! — If any of you should hunger, remember Rowena 
has food — if you should thirst, she has many a butt of wine 
and brown ale — and if the Normans drive ye from these 
walks, Rowena has forests of her own, where her gallant de- 
liverers may range at full freedom, and never ranger ask 
whose arrow hath struck down the deer.” 

“ Thanks, gentle lady,” said Locksley; “ thanks from my 
company and myself. But to have saved you requites it- 
self. We who walk the greenwood do many a wild deed, 
and the Lady Rowena’s deliverance may be received as an 
atonement.” 

Again bowing from her palfrey, Rowena turned to 
depart; but pausing a moment, while Cedric, who was to 
attend her, was also taking his leave, she found herself 
unexpectedly close by the prisoner De Bracy. He stood 
under a tree in deep meditation, his arms crossed upon his 
breast, and Rowena was in hopes she might pass him un- 
observed. He looked up, however, and, when aware of her 
presence, a deep flush of shame suffused his handsome 


IV AN HOE 


357 


countenance. He stood a moment most irresolute; then, 
stepping forward, took her palfrey by the rein, and bent 
his knee before her. 

“ Will the Lady Eowena deign to cast an eye on a captive 
knight — on a dishonoured soldier ? ” 

Sir Knight,” answered Eowena, “ in enterprises such 
as yours, the real dishonour lies not in failure, but in 
success.” 

“ Conquest, lady, should soften the heart,” answered 
He Bracy; “ let me but know that the Lady Eowena for- 
gives the violence occasioned by an ill-fated passion, and 
she shall soon learn that De Bracy knows how to serve her 
in nobler ways.” 

“ I forgive you, Sir Ivnight,” said Eowena, “ as a Chris- 
tian.” 

“ That means,” said Wamba, “ that she does not forgive 
him at all.” 1 

“ But I can never forgive the misery and desolation 
your madness has occasioned,” continued Eowena. 

“Unloose your hold on the lady’s rein,” said Cedric, 
coming up. “ By the bright sun above us, but it were 
shame, I would pin thee to the earth with my javelin — 
but, be well assured, thou shalt smart, Maurice de Bracy, 
for thy share in this foul deed.” 

“ He threatens safely who threatens a prisoner,” said De 
Bracy; “ but when had a Saxon any touch of courtesy? ” 

Then retiring two steps backward, he permitted the lady 
to move on. 

Cedric, ere they departed, expressed his peculiar grati- 
tude to the Black Champion, and earnestly entreated him 
to accompany him to Botherwood. 

“ I know,” he said, “ that ye errant knights desire to 
carry your fortunes on the point of your lance, and reck 
not of land or goods; but war is a changeful mistress, and 
a home is sometimes desirable even to the champion whose 
trade is wandering. Thou hast earned one in the halls of 
Botherwood, noble knight. Cedric has wealth enough to 
repair the injuries of fortune, and all he has is his deliv- 
erer’s. Come, therefore, to Botherwood, not as a guest, 
but as a son or brother.” 

1 Wamba’s remark, one of the most famous in Ivanhoe, was 
inserted by Scott after the first draught of the novel was completed. 


358 


I VAN HOE 


“ Cedric lias already made me rich/’ said the Knight, — 
“ he has taught me the value of Saxon virtue. To Rother- 
wood will I come, brave Saxon, and that speedily; but, as 
now, pressing matters of moment detain me from your 
halls. Peradventure when I come hither, I will ask such 
a boon as will put even thy generosity to the test.” 

“It is granted ere spoken out,” said Cedric, striking his 
ready hand into the gauntleted pahn of the Black Knight, 
— ■“ it is granted already, were it to affect half my fortune.” 

“ Gage not thy promise so lightly,” said the Knight of 
the Fetterlock; “ yet well I hope to gain the boon I shall 
ask. Meanwhile, adieu.” 

“ I have but to say,” added the Saxon, “ that, during 
the funeral rites of the noble Athelstane, I shall be an 
inhabitant of the halls of his castle of Coningsburgh. They 
will be open to all who choose to partake of the funeral 
banqueting; and, I speak in name of the noble Edith, 
mother of the fallen prince, they will never be shut against 
him who laboured so bravely, though unsuccessfully, to 
save Athelstane from Norman chains and Norman steel.” 

“ Ay, ay,” said Wamba, who had resumed his attendance 
on his master, “ rare feeding there will be — pity that the 
noble Athelstane cannot banquet at his own funeral. — But 
he,” continued the Jester, lifting up his eyes gravely, “ is 
supping in Paradise, and doubtless does honour to the 
cheer.” 

“ Peace, and move on,” said Cedric, his anger at this 
untimely jest being checked by the recollection of Wamba’s 
recent services. Rowena waved a graceful adieu to him of 
the Fetterlock — the Saxon bade God speed him, and on 
they moved through a wide glade of the forest. 

They had scarce departed, ere a sudden procession 
moved from under the greenwood branches, swept slowly 
round the silvan amphitheatre, and took the same direction 
with Rowena and her followers. The priests of a neigh- 
bouring convent, in expectation of the ample donation, or 
soul-scat / which Cedric had propined , 2 attended upon the 
car in which the body of Athelstane was laid, and sang 
hymns as it was sadly and slowly borne on the shoulders 

1 A sum paid to the church for the repose of the soul of the 
deceased. 

2 Promised. 


I VAN HOE 


359 


of his vassals to his castle of Coningsburgh, to be there 
deposited in the grave of Hengist, from whom the deceased 
derived his long descent. Many of his vassals had as- 
sembled at the news of his death, and followed the bier 
with all the external marks, at least, of dejection and sor- 
row. Again the outlaws arose, and paid the same rude and 
spontaneous homage to death, which they had so lately 
rendered to beauty — the slow chant and mournful step of 
the priests brought back to their remembrance such of 
their comrades as had fallen in the yesterday’s affray. But 
such recollections dwell not long with those who lead a life 
of danger and enterprise, and ere the' sound of the death- 
hymn had died on the wind the outlaws were again busied 
in the distribution of their spoil. 

“ Valiant knight,” said Locksley to the Black Champion, 
“ without whose good heart and mighty arm our enterprise 
must altogether have failed, will it please you to take from 
that mass of spoil whatever may best serve to pleasure 
you, and to remind you of this my Trysting-tree? ” 

“ I accept the offer,” said the Knight, “ as frankly as it 
is given; and I ask permission to dispose of Sir Maurice 
de Bracy at my own pleasure.” 

“ He is thine already,” said Locksley, “ and well for him! 
else the tyrant had graced the highest bough of this oak, 
with as many of his Free Companions as we could gather, 
hanging thick as acorns around him. — But he is thy pris- 
oner, and he is safe, though he had slain my father.” 

“ De Bracy,” said the Knight, “ thou art free — depart. 
He whose prisoner thou art scorns to take mean revenge 
for what is past. But beware of the future, lest a worse 
thing befall thee. — Maurice de Bracy, I say beware ! ” 

De Bracy bowed low and in silence, and was about to 
withdraw, when the yeomen burst at once into a shout of 
execration and derision. The proud knight instantly 
stopped, turned back, folded his arms, drew up his form to 
its full height, and exclaimed, “ Peace, ye yelping curs! who 
open upon a cry which ye followed not when the stag was 
at bay — De Bracy scorns your censure as he would disdain 
your applause. To your brakes and caves, ye outlawed 
thieves! and be silent when aught knightly or noble is but 
spoken within a league of your fox-earths.” 1 

1 Fox-holes. 


360 


IVAN IIOE 


This ill-timed defiance might have procured for De Bracy 
a volley of arrows, but for the hasty and imperative inter- 
ference of the outlaw Chief. Meanwhile the knight caught 
a horse by the rein, for several which had been taken in the 
stables of Front-de-Bceuf stood accoutred around, and were 
a valuable part of the booty. He threw himself upon the 
saddle, and galloped off through the wood. 

When the bustle occasioned by this incident w T as some- 
what composed, the chief Outlaw took from his neck the 
rich horn and baldric which he had recently gained at the 
strife of archery near Ashby. 

“ Noble knight,” lie said to him of the Fetterlock, “ if 
you disdain not to grace by your acceptance a bugle which 
an English yeoman has once worn, this I will pray you to 
keep as a memorial of your gallant bearing — and if ye have 
aught to do, and, as happeneth oft to a gallant knight, ye 
chanced to be hard bestead in any forest between Trent 
and Tees , 1 wind three mots * upon the horn thus, Wa-sa- 
hoa! and it may well chance ye shall find helpers and 
rescue.” 

He then gave breath to the bugle, and winded once and 
again the call which he described, until the knight had 
caught the notes. 

“ Gramercy for the gift, bold yeoman,” said the Knight; 
“ and better help than thine and thy rangers would I never 
seek, were it at my utmost need.” And then in his turn 
he winded the call till all the greenwood rang. 

“ Well blown and clearly,” said the yeoman; “ beslirew 
me an thou knowest not as much of woodcraft as of war! 
Thou hast been a striker of deer in thy day, I warrant. — 
Comrades, mark these three mots — it is the call of the 
Knight of the Fetterlock; and he who hears it, and hastens 
not to serve him at his need, I will have him scourged out 
of our band with his own bowstring.” 

“ Long live our leader!” shouted the yeomen, “ and 
long live the Black Knight of the Fetterlock! — May he 
soon use our service, to prove how readily it will be paid.” 

*The notes upon the bugle were anciently called mots, and are 
distinguished in the old treatises on hunting, not by musical charac- 
ters, but by written words. [Scott.] 

1 The Tees is a river in northeastern England, flowing into the 
Forth Sea. 


IVANIIOE 


361 


Locksley now proceeded to the distribution of the spoil, 
which he performed with the most laudable impartiality. 
A tenth part of the whole was set apart for the church, and 
for pious uses; a portion was next allotted to a sort of public 
treasury; a part was assigned to the widows and children 
of those who had fallen, or to be expended in masses for 
the souls of such as had left no surviving family. The rest 
was divided amongst the outlaws, according to their rank 
and merit; and the judgment of the Chief, on all such 
doubtful questions as occurred, was delivered with great 
shrewdness, and received with absolute submission. The 
Black Ivnight was not a little surprised to find that men in 
a state so lawless were nevertheless among themselves so 
regularly and equitably governed, and all that he observed 
added to his opinion of the justice and judgment of their 
leader. 

When each had taken his own proportion of the booty, 
and while the treasurer, accompanied by four tall yeomen, 
was transporting that belonging to the state to some place 
of concealment or of security, the portion devoted to the 
church still remained unappropriated. 

“I would,” said the leader, “we could hear tidings of our 
joyous chaplain — he was neverwont to be absent when meat 
was to be blessed, or spoil to be parted; and it is his duty 
to take care of these the tithes of our successful enterprise. 
It may be the office has helped to cover some of his canon- 
ical irregularities. Also, I have a holy brother of his a 
prisoner at no great distance, and I would fain have the 
Friar to help me to deal with him in due sort — I greatly 
misdoubt the safety of the bluff priest.” 

“ I were right sorry for that,” said the Knight of the 
Fetterlock, “ for I stand indebted to him for the joyous 
hospitality of a merry night in his cell. Let us to the 
ruins of the castle;. it may be we shall there learn some 
tidings of him.” 

While they thus spoke, a loud shout among the yeomen 
announced the arrival of him for whom they feared, as they 
learned from the stentorian voice of the Friar himself, 
long before they saw his burly person. 

“ Make room, my merry-men! ” he exclaimed; “ room for 
your godly father and his prisoner. Cry welcome once 
more. — I come, noble leader, like an eagle with my prey 


3G2 


1 VANIK) E 


in mj clutch. 5 ’ — And making his way through the ring, 
amidst the laughter of all around, he appeared in majestic 
triumph, his huge partisan in one hand, and in the other 
a halter, one end of which was fastened to the neck of the 
unfortunate Isaac of York, who, bent down by sorrow and 
terror, was dragged on by the victorious priest, who shouted 
aloud, “ Where is Allan-a-Dale, to chronicle me in a ballad, 
or if it were but a lay? — By Saint Iiermangild, 1 the jing- 
ling crowder is ever out of the way where there is an apt 
theme for exalting valour! ” 

“ Curtal Priest,” said the Captain, “ thou hast been at 
a wet mass this- morning, as early as it is. In the name 
of Saint Nicholas, whom hast thou got here? ” 

“ A captive to my sword and to my lance, noble Cap- 
tain,” replied the Clerk of Copmanhurst; “ to my how and 
to my halberd, I should rather say; and yet I have redeemed 
him by my divinity from a worse captivity. Speak, Jew — 
have I not ransomed thee from Sathanas 2 ? — have I not 
taught thee thy credo, thy pater, and thine Are Maria ? — 
Did I not spend the whole night in drinking to thee, and 
in expounding of mysteries? ” 

“For the love of God! ” ejaculated the poor Jew, “will 
no one take me out of the keeping of this mad — I mean, 
this holy man? ” 

“How’s this, Jew?” said the Friar, with a menacing 
aspect; “dost thou recant, Jew? — Bethink thee, if thou 
dost relapse into thine infidelity, though thou art not so 
tender as a suckling pig — I would I had one to break my 
fast upon — thou art not too tough to he roasted! Be con- 
formable, Isaac, and repeat the words after me. Are 
Maria! ” 

“ Nay, we will have no profanation, mad Priest,” said 
Locksley; “ let us rather hear where you found this pris- 
oner of thine.” 

“ By Saint Dunstan,” said the Friar, “ I found him 
where I sought for better ware! I did step into the cellar- 
age to see what might he rescued there; for though a cup 
of burnt wine, with spice, be an evening’s draught for an 
emperor, it were waste, methought, to let so much good 

1 A West Gothic prince of the sixth century, canonized as a cham- 
pion of the Catholic faith. 

2 Satan. 


IVANHOE 


3G3 


liquor be mulled at once; and I had caught up one runlet 
of sack, and was coming to call more aid among these 
lazy knaves, who are ever to seek when a good deed is to 
he done, when I was avised of a strong door. Aha! thought 
I, here is the choicest juice of all in this secret crypt; and 
the knave butler, being disturbed in his vocation, hath left 
the key in the door. In therefore I went, and found just 
nought besides a commodity 1 of rusted chains and this 
dog of a Jew, who presently rendered himself my prisoner, 
rescue or no rescue. I did but refresh myself after the 
fatigue of the action, with the unbeliever, with one hum- 
ming cup of sack, and was proceeding to lead forth my cap- 
tive, when, crash after crash, as with wild thunder-dint 
and levin-fire , 2 down toppled the masonry of an outer 
tower, (marry 3 beshrew their hands that built it not the 
firmer!) and blocked up the passage. The roar of one 
falling tower followed another — I gave up thought of life; 
and deeming it a dishonour to one of my profession to pass 
out of this world in company with a Jew, I heaved up my 
halberd to beat his brains out; but I took pity on his grey 
hairs, and judged it better to lay down the partisan, and 
take up my spiritual weapon for his conversion. And 
truly, by the blessing of Saint Dunstan, the seed has been 
sowm in good soil; only that, with speaking to him of mys- 
teries through the whole night, and being in a manner 
fasting, (for the few draughts of sack which I sharpened 
my wits with were not worth marking,) my head is well- 
nigh dizzied, I trow. — But I was clean exhausted. — Gilbert 
and Wibbald know in what state they found me — quite and 
clean exhausted.” 

“ We can bear witness,” said Gilbert; “ for when we had 
cleared away the ruin, and by Saint Dunstan’s help lighted 
upon the dungeon stair, we found the runlet of sack half 
empty, the Jew half dead, and the Friar more than half 
- — exhausted, as he calls it.” 

“ Ye be knaves! ye lie! ” retorted the offended Friar; “ it 
was you and your gormandizing companions that drank up 
the sack, and called it your morning draught — I am a 

1 Supply. 

2 Thunder-stroke and lightning-flash. 

3 “Marry” is here used simply to strengthen the force of 
“ beshrew,” as in the phrase “marry come up ! ” 


3G4 


IV AN IIO E 


pagan, an I kept it not for tlie Captain’s own throat. But 
what recks it? The Jew is converted, and understands all 
I have told him, very nearly, if not altogether, as well as 
myself.” 

“ Jew,” said the Captain, “is this true? hast thou re- 
nounced thine unbelief? ” 

“ May I so find mercy in your eyes,” said the J ew, “ as 
I know not one word which the reverend prelate spake to 
me all this fearful night. Alas! I was so distraught wfith 
agony, and fear, and grief, that had our holy father Abra- 
ham come to preach to me, he had found but a deaf 
listener.” 

“ Thou liest, Jew, and thou knowest thou dost,” said the 
Friar; “ I wall remind thee of hut one word of our confer- 
ence — thou didst promise to give all thy substance to our 
holy Order.” 

“ So help me the promise, fair sirs,” said Isaac, even 
more alarmed than before, “ as no such sounds ever crossed 
my lips! Alas! I am an aged beggar’d man — I fear me a 
childless — have ruth on me, and let me go! ” 

“Nay,” said the Friar, “if thou dost retract vows made 
in favour of Holy Church, thou must do penance.” 

Accordingly, he raised his halberd, and would have laid 
the staff of it lustily on the Jew’s shoulders, had not the 
Black Knight stopped the blow, and thereby transferred 
the Holy Clerk’s resentment to himself. 

“ By Saint Thomas of Kent,” said he, “ an I buckle to 
my gear, 1 I will teach thee, sir lazy lover, to mell 2 with 
thine own matters, maugre 3 thine iron case there! ” 

“ Kay, be not wroth with me,” said the Knight; “ thou 
knowest I am thy sworn friend and comrade.” 

“ I know no such thing,” answered the Friar; “ and defy 
thee for a meddling coxcomb! ” 

“ Kay, but,” said the Knight, who seemed to take a 
pleasure in provoking his quondam host, “ hast thou for- 
gotten how, that for my sake (for I say nothing of the 
temptation of the flagon and the pasty) ‘thou didst break 
thy vow of fast and vigil ? ” 

“ Truly, friend,” said the Friar, clenching his huge fist, 
“ I will bestow a buffet on thee.” 


1 If I take my weapons. 


2 Meddle. 


3 Despite. 


IVAN HOE 


3G5 


" I accept of no such presents/’ said the Knight; “ I am 
content to take thy cuff * as a loan, hut I will repay thee 
with usury as deep as ever thy prisoner there exacted in his 
traffic.” 

“ I will prove that presently,” said the Friar. 

“ Hola! ” cried the Captain, “ what art thou after, mad 
Friar? brawling beneath our Trysting-tree? ” 

“No brawling,” said the Knight, "it is but a friendly 
interchange of courtesy. — Friar, strike an thou darest — I 
will stand thy blow, if thou wilt stand mine.” 

“ Thou hast the advantage with that iron pot on thy 
head,” said the churchman; “ but have at thee. Down 
thou goest, an thou wert Goliath of Gath in his brazen 
helmet.” 

The Friar bared his brawny arm up to the elbow, and 
putting his full strength to the blow, gave the Knight a 
buffet that might have felled an ox. But his adversary 
stood firm as a rock. A loud shout was uttered by all the 
yeomen around; for the Clerk’s cuff was proverbial amongst 
them, and there were few who, in jest or earnest, had not 
had the* occasion to know its vigour. 

“ Kow, Priest,” said the Knight, pulling off his gauntlet, 
“ if I had vantage on my head, I will have none on my hand 
— stand fast as a true man.” 

“ Genarn mearn dedi vapulatori — I have given my cheek 
to the smiter,” 1 said the Priest; “ an thou canst stir me 
from the spot, fellow, I will freely bestow on thee the 
Jew’s ransom.” 

So spoke the burly Priest, assuming, on his part, high 
defiance. But who may resist his fate? The buffet of the 

* The interchange of a cuff with the jolly priest is not entirely out 
of character with Richard I, if romances read him aright. In the 
very curious romance on the subject of his adventures in the Holy 
Land, and his return from thence, it is recorded how he exchanged a 
pugilistic favour of this nature, while a prisoner in Germany. His 
opponent was the son of his principal warder, and was so imprudent 
as to give the challenge to this barter of buffets. The King stood 
forth like a true man, and received a blow which staggered him. In 
requital, having previously waxed his hand, a practice unknown, I 
believe, to the gentlemen of the modern fancy, he returned the box 
on the ear with such interest as to kill his antagonist on the spot. — 
See, in Ellis’s Specimens of English Romance, that of Cceur-de-Lion. 
[Scott.] 

1 Lamentations iii. 30. 


3G6 


IV AN HOE 


Knight was given with such strength and good-will that 
the Friar rolled head over heels upon the plain, to the 
great amazement of all the spectators. But he arose 
neither angry nor crestfallen. 

“ Brother,” said he to the Knight, “ thou sliouldst have 
used thy strength with more discretion. I had mumbled 
but a lame mass an thou hadst broken my jaw, for the 
piper plays ill that wants the nether chops. Nevertheless, 
there is my hand, in friendly witness that I will exchange 
no more cuffs with thee, having been a loser by the barter. 
End now all unkindness. Let us put the Jew to ransom, 
since the leopard will not change his spots, and a Jew he 
will continue to he.” 

“ The Priest,” said Clement, “ is not half so confident of 
the Jew’s conversion, since he received that buffet on the 
ear.” 

“ Go to, knave, what pratest thou of conversions? — what, 
is there no respect? — all masters and no men? — I tell thee, 
fellow, I was somewhat totty 1 when I received the good 
knight’s blow, or I had kept my ground under it. But 
an thou gibest more of it, thou shalt learn I can give as well 
as take.” 

“ Peace all! ” said the Captain. “ And thou, Jew, think 
of thy ransom; thou needest not to he told that thy race are 
held to he accursed in all Christian communities, and trust 
me that we cannot endure thy presence among us. Think, 
therefore, of an offer, while I examine a prisoner of another 
cast.” 

“Were many of Front-de-Boeuf’s men taken?” de- 
manded the Black Knight. 

“ None of note enough to he put to ransom,” answered 
the Captain; “ a set of hilding fellows there were, whom 
we dismissed to find them a new master — enough had been 
done for revenge and profit; the hunch of them were not 
worth a cardecu . 2 The prisoner I speak of is better booty 
— a jolly monk riding to visit his leman , 3 an I may judge 
by his horse-gear and wearing apparel. — Here cometh the 
. worthy prelate, as pert as a pyet.” 4 And, between two yeo- 

1 Unsteady. 

2 An old French silver coin {quart d’ecu, quarter crown), worth 
between one and two shillings. 

3 Mistress. 4 Magpie. 


IV AN ROE 


367 


men, was brought before the silvan throne of the outlaw 
Chief our old friend, Prior Aymer of Jorvaulx. 

[The few sentences of landscape depiction, at the beginning of the 
chapter, may suggest a comparison between Scott’s novels and his 
poems as regards the extent to which he avails himself, in the two 
arts, of landscape effects. Distinguish carefully chapters like the 
preceding, designed to give a picture of characters in a certain mood, 
from chapters containing situations or events that directly advance 
the plot. The freedom with which Scott makes his personages jest 
upon sacred subjects was sharply criticised by one reviewer at the 
time of Ivanhoe's first appearance. Do you think this chapter, and 
the following one, are really at fault in this respect ? ] 


CHAPTER XXXIII 


Flower of warriors, 

IIow is’t with Titus Lartius ? 

Marcius. As with a man busied about decrees, 

Condemning some to death and some to exile, 

Ransoming him or pitying, threatening the other. 

Coriolanus. 

The captive Abbot’s features and manners exhibited a 
whimsical mixture of offended pride and deranged foppery 
and bodily terror. 

“ Why, how now, my masters? ” said he, with a voice in 
which all three emotions were blended. “ What order is 
this among ye? Be ye Turks or Christians, that handle a 
churchman? — Know ye what it is, manus imponere in 
servos Domini 1 ? Ye have plundered my mails — torn my 
cope of curious cut lace, which might have served a car- 
dinal! — Another in my place would have been at his ex- 
communicato vos 2 ; but I am placable, and if ye order forth 
my palfreys, release my brethren, and restore my mails, tell 
down with all speed an hundred crowns to be expended in 
masses at the high altar of J orvaulx Abbey, and make your 
vow to eat no venison until next Pentecost , 3 it may be you 
shall hear little more of this mad frolic.” 

“ Holy father,” said the chief Outlaw, “ it grieves me to 
think that you have met with such usage from any of my 
followers as calls for your fatherly reprehension.” 

“ Usage ! 99 echoed the priest, encouraged by the mild 
tone of the silvan leader; “ it were usage fit for no hound 
of good race — much less for a Christian — far less for a 
priest — and least of all for the Prior of the holy community 

1 “ To lay hands upon the Lord’s servants.” 

2 “ I will excommunicate you.” 

3 A Jewish harvest-festival, celebrated upon the fiftieth day after 
the Passover ; also the name of Whitsunday, the Christian festival 
commemorating the descent of the Holy Spirit upon the Apostles, 
which occurred upon the day of Pentecost. (Acte ii.) 


IV AN HOP 


309 


of J orvaulx. Here is a profane and drunken minstrel, 
called Allan-a-Dale — nebulo quidam 1 — who has menaced 
me with corporal punishment — nay, with death itself, an 
I pay not down four hundred crowns of ransom, to the 
boot of all the treasure he hath already robbed me of — gold 
chains and gymmal 2 rings to an unknown value; besides 
what is broken and spoiled among their rude hands, such 
as my pouneet-box 3 and silver crisping-tongs.” 

“ It is impossible that Allan-a-Dale can have thus treated 
a man of your reverend bearing/’ replied the Captain. 

“ It is true as the Gospel of Saint Hicodemus,” 4 said the 
Prior; “ he swore, with many a cruel north-country oath, 
that he would hang me up on the highest tree in the green- 
wood.” 

“ Did he so in very deed ? Hay, then, reverend father, 
I think you had better comply with his demands — for 
Allan-a-Dale is the very man to abide by his Word when he 
has so pledged it.” * 

“ You do but jest with me,” said the 'astounded Prior, 
with a forced laugh; “ and I love a good jest with all my 
heart. But, ha! ha! ha! when the mirth has lasted the 
livelong night, it is time to be grave in the morning.” 

“ And I am as grave as a father confessor,” replied the 
Outlaw. “ You must pay a round ransom, Sir Prior, or 
your convent is likely to be called to a new election; for 
your place will know you no more.” 

“ Are ye Christians,” said the Prior, “ and hold this 
language to a churchman ? ” 

“ Christians! ay, marry are we, and have divinity among 
us to boot,” answered the Outlaw. “ Let our buxom chap- 
lain stand forth, and expound to this reverend father the 
texts which concern this matter.” 

The Friar, half-drunk, half-sober, had huddled a friar’s 
frock over his green cassock, and now summoning together 

* A commissary is said to have received similar consolation from a 
certain Commander-in-chief to whom he complained that a general 
officer had used some such threat towards him as that in the text. 
[Scott.] 

1 “A certain good-for-nothing rascal.” 

2 A sort of double ring. 

3 Box for scented powder. 

4 Nicodemus was reputed to be the author of a spurious narrative, 
sometimes called The Acts of Pilate. 

24 


370 


IVANHOE 


whatever scraps of learning he had acquired by rote in 
former days, “ Holy father,” said he, “ Deus faciat salvam 
benignitatem vestram 1 — you are welcome to the green- 
wood.” 

“ What profane mummery is this?” said the Prior. 
“ Friend, if thou be’st indeed of the church, it were a 
better deed to show me how I may escape from these men’s 
hands, than to stand ducking and grinning here like a 
morris-dancer.” 2 

“ Truly, reverend father,” said the Friar, “I know hut 
one mode in which thou mayst escape. This is Saint 
Andrew’s day 3 with us; we are taking our tithes.” 

“But not of the church, then, I trust, my good brother?” 
said the Prior. 

“ Of church and lay,” said the Friar; “ and therefore, 
Sir Prior, facite vobis amicos de Mammone iniquitatis — 
make yourselves friends of the Mammon of unrighteous- 
ness , 4 for no other friendship is like to serve your turn.” 

“I love a jolly woodsman at heart,” said the Prior, soften- 
ing his tone; “ come, ye must not deal too hard with me — 
I can 5 well of woodcraft, and can wind a horn clear and 
lustily, and hollo till every oak rings again. Come, ye 
must not deal too hard with me.” 

“ Give him a horn,” said the Outlaw; “ we will prove 
the skill he boasts of.” 

The Prior Aymer winded a blast accordingly. The 
Captain shook his head. 

“ Sir Prior,” he said, “ thou blowest a merry note, but 
it may not ransom thee — we cannot afford, as the legend 
on a good knight’s shield hath it, to set thee free for a 
blast. Moreover, I have found thee — thou art one of those 
who, with new French graces and Tra-li-ras, disturb the 
ancient English bugle notes. — Prior, that last flourish on 
the recheat hath added fifty crowns to thy ransom, for 
corrupting the true old manly blasts of venerie.” 6 

“Well, friend,” said the Abbot, peevishly, “thou art ill 

1 ‘ ‘ God keep your reverence safe ! ” 

2 One who took part in pageants and May Day festivities, fanci- 
fully dressed. 

3 November thirtieth, one of the stated times for collecting tithes. 

4 Luke xvi. 9. 

5 Know. 

6 Hunting. 


1VANII0E 


371 


to please with thy woodcraft. I pray thee, be more con- 
formable in this matter of my ransom. At a word — since 
I must needs, for once, hold a candle to the devil — what 
ransom am I to pay for walking on Watling-street, without 
having fifty men at my back ? ” 

“ Were it not well,” said the Lieutenant of the gang 
apart to the Captain, “ that the Prior should name the 
Jew’s ransom, and the Jew name the Prior’s ? ” 

“ Thou art a mad knave,” said the Captain, “ but thy 
plan transcends! — Here, Jew, step forth. Look at that 
holy Father Aymer, Prior of the rich Abbey of Jorvaulx, 
and tell us at what ransom we should hold him? — Thou 
knowest the income of his convent, I warrant thee.” 

“ 0, assuredly,” said Isaac. “ I have trafficked with the 
good fathers, and bought wheat and barley, and fruits of 
the earth, and also much wool. 0, it is a rich abbey-stede, 1 
and they do live upon the fat, and drink the sweet wines 
upon the lees, these good fathers of Jorvaulx. Ah, if an 
outcast like me had such a home to go to, and such incom- 
ings by the year and by the month, 1 would pay much gold 
and silver to redeem my captivity.” 

“ Hound of a Jew! ” exclaimed the Prior, “ no one knows 
better than thy own cursed self that our holy house of God 
is indebted for the finishing of our chancel ” 

“ And for the storing of your cellars in the last season 
with the due allowance of Gascon wine,” interrupted the 
Jew; “ but that — that is small matters.” 

“ Hear the infidel dog! ” said the churchman; “ he 
jangles as if our holy community did come under debts for 
the wines we have a license to drink, propter necessitatem 
et ad frigus depellendum. 2 The circumcised villain blas- 
phemeth the holy church, and Christian men listen and 
rebuke him not! ” 

“ All this helps nothing,” said the leader . — “ Isaac, pro- 
nounce what he may pay, without flaying both hide and 
hair.” 

“ An six hundred crowns,” said Isaac, “ the good Prior 
might well pay to your honoured valours, and never sit 
less soft in his stall.” 

“ Six hundred crowns,” said the leader, gravely; “I am 

1 Seat for an abbey. 

2 “In case of necessity and to drive away the cold,” 


372 


I VANIK) E 


contented — thou hast well spoken, Isaac — six hundred 
crowns. — It is a sentence. Sir Prior / 7 

“ A sentence! — a sentence ! 77 exclaimed the band; “ Solo- 
mon had not done it better . 77 

“ Thou hearest thy doom, Prior , 77 said the leader. 

“ Ye are mad, my masters , 77 said the Prior; “ where am I 
to find such a sum? If I sell the very pyx 1 and candle- 
sticks on the altar at Jorvaulx, I shall scarce raise the 
half; and it will be necessary for that purpose that I go to 
Jorvaulx myself; ye may retain as borrows * my two 
priests . 77 

“ That will be but blind trust , 77 said the Outlaw; “ we 
will retain thee, Prior, and send them to fetch thy ransom. 
Thou shalt not want a cup of wine and a collop 2 of venison 
the while; and if thou lovest woodcraft, tliou shalt see such 
as your north country never witnessed . 77 

“ Or, if so please you , 77 said Isaac, willing to curry favour 
with the outlaws, “ I can send to York for the six hundred 
crowns, out of certain monies in my hands, if so be that 
the most reverend Prior present will grant me a quittance . 77 

“ He shall grant thee whatever thou dost list, Isaac , 77 
said the Captain; “ and thou shalt lay down the redemption 
money for Prior Aymer as well as for thyself . 77 

“For myself! ah, courageous sirs , 77 said the Jew, “I am 
a broken and impoverished man; a beggar’s staff must be 
my portion through life, supposing I were to pay you fifty 
crowns . 77 

The Prior shall judge of that matter , 77 replied the Cap- 
tain. — “ How say you, Father Aymer? Can the Jew afford 
a good ransom? 77 

“ Can he afford a ransom? 77 answered the Prior. “ Is he 
not Isaac of York, rich enough to redeem the captivity of 
the ten tribes of Israel, who were led into Assyrian bond- 
age? — I have seen but little of him myself, but our cel- 
larer and treasurer have dealt largely with him, and 
report says that his house at York is so full of gold and 
silver as is a shame in any Christian land. Marvel it is 
to all living Christian hearts that such gnawing adders 

* Borghs, or borrows, signifies pledges. Hence our word to borrow, 
because we pledge ourselves to restore what is lent. [Scott.] 

The vessel containing the consecrated wafers for the communion. 

2 Slice. 


IV AN HOE 


373 


should be suffered to eat into the bowels of the state, and 
even of the holy church herself, with foul usuries and 
extortions/ 5 

“ Hold, father, 55 said the J ew, “ mitigate and assuage 
your choler. I pray of your reverence to remember that 
I force my monies upon no one. But when churchman 
and layman, prince and prior, knight and priest, come 
knocking to Isaac’s door, they borrow not his shekels with 
these uncivil terms. It is then, c Friend Isaac, will you 
pleasure us in this matter, and our day shall be truly kept, 
so God sa 5 me? 5 — and, ‘Kind Isaac, if ever you served man, 
show yourself a friend in this need! 5 And when the day 
comes, and I ask my own, then what hear I hut ‘ Damned 
Jew, 5 and ‘ The curse of Egypt on your tribe, 5 and all that 
may stir up the rude and uncivil populace against poor 
strangers! 55 1 

“ Prior, 55 said the Captain, “ Jew though he be, he hath 
in this spoken well. Do thou, therefore, name his ransom, 
as he named thine, without farther rude terms. 55 

“ Hone but latro famosus 2 — the interpretation whereof, 55 
said the Prior, “ will I give at some other time and tide — 
would place a Christian prelate and an unbaptized Jew 
upon the same bench. But since ye require me to put a 
price upon this caitiff, I tell you openly that ye will wrong 
yourselves if you take from him a penny under a thousand 
crowns. 55 

“A sentence! — a sentence! 55 exclaimed the chief Outlaw. 

“A sentence! — a sentence! 55 shouted his assessors; “ the 
Christian has shown his good nurture, and dealt with us 
more generously than the Jew. 55 

“ The God of my fathers help me! 55 said the Jew; “ will 
ye bear to the ground an impoverished creature? — I am 
this day childless, and will ye deprive me of the means of 
livelihood? 55 

“ Thou wilt have the less to provide for, Jew, if thou 
art childless, 55 said Aymer. 

“ Alas! my lord, 55 said Isaac, “your law permits you not 
to know how the child of our bosom is entwined with the 
strings of our heart. — 0 Eebecca! daughter of my beloved 
Eachael! were each leaf on that tree a zecchin, and each 

1 Compare the entire paragraph with The Merchant of Venice, i, 2, 
107-130. 2 A noted robber. 


374 


IVAN HO E 


zecchin mine own, all that mass of wealth would I give to 
know whether thou art alive, and escaped the hands of the 
Nazarene 1 ! ” 

“ Was not thy daughter dark-haired? ” said one of the 
outlaws; “ and wore she not a veil of twisted sendal, 
broidered with silver?” 

“ She did! — she did! ” said the old man, trembling with 
eagerness, as formerly with fear. “ The blessing of Jacob 
be upon thee! canst thou tell me aught of her safety? ” 

“ It was she, then,” said the yeoman, “ who was carried 
off by the proud Templar, when he broke through our 
ranks on yester-even. I had drawn my bow to send a shaft 
after him, but spared him even for the sake of the damsel, 
who I feared might take harm from the arrow.” 

“ Oh! ” answered the Jew, “ I would to God thou hadst 
shot, though the arrow had pierced her bosom! — Better the 
tomb of her fathers than the dishonourable couch of the 
licentious and savage Templar. Ichabod! Ichabod! the 
glory hath departed from my house 2 ! ” 

“ Friends,” said the Chief, looking round, “ the old man 
is but a Jew, natheless his grief touches me. — Deal up- 
rightly with us, Isaac — will paying this ransom of a thou- 
sand crowns leave thee altogether penniless?” 

Isaac recalled to think of his worldly goods, the love 
of which, by dint of inveterate habit, contended even with 
his parental affection, grew pale, stammered, and could not 
deny there might be some small surplus. 

“ Well — go to — what though there be,” said the Outlaw, 
“ we w r ill not reckon with thee too closely. Without treas- 
ure thou mayst as well hope to redeem thy child from the 
clutches of Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert as to shoot a stag- 
royal 3 with a headless shaft. — We will take thee at the same 
ransom with Prior Aymer, or rather at one hundred crowns 
lower, which hundred crowns shall be mine own peculiar 
loss, and not light upon this worshipful community; and so 
we shall avoid the heinous offence of rating a Jew merchant 
as high as a Christian prelate, and thou wilt have six 4 
hundred crowns remaining to treat for thy daughter’s ran- 

1 Compare Merchant of Venice , iv, 1, 85-88. 

2 See 1 Samuel iv. 21. 

3 A staff with antlers of twelve or more points. 

4 Would it not be “ five ” ? 


IVAN HOE 


375 


som. Templars love the glitter of silver shekels as well as 
the sparkle of black eyes. — Hasten to make thy crowns 
chink in the ear of De Bois-Guilbert, ere worse comes of it. 
Thou wilt find him, as our scouts have brought notice, at 
the next Preceptory house of his Order. — Said I well, my 
merry mates? ” 

The yeomen expressed their wonted acquiescence in their 
leader’s opinion; and Isaac, relieved of one half of his ap- 
prehensions, by learning that his daughter lived, and might 
possibly he ransomed, threw himself at the feet of the 
generous Outlaw, and, rubbing his beard against his bus- 
kins, sought to kiss the hem of his green cassock. The 
Captain drew himself back, and extricated himself from the 
Jew’s grasp, not without some marks of contempt. 

“ Nay, heshrew thee, man, up with thee! I am English 
born, and love no such Eastern prostrations. Kneel to 
God, and not to a poor sinner like me.” 

“ Ay, Jew,” said Prior Aymer; “ kneel to God, as repre- 
sented in the servant of his altar, and who knows, with thy 
sincere repentance and due gifts to the shrine of Saint 
Bobert , 1 what grace thou mayst acquire for thyself and 
thy daughter Rebecca? I grieve for the maiden, for she is 
of fair and comely countenance, — I beheld her in the lists 
of Ashby. Also Brian de Bois-Guilbert is one with whom 
I may do much — bethink thee how thou mayst deserve my 
good word with him.” 

“ Alas! alas! ” said the Jew, “ on every hand the spoilers 
arise against me — I am given as a prey unto the Assyrian, 
and a prey unto him of Egypt.” 

“ And what else should be the lot of thy accursed race? ” 
answered the Prior; “ for what saith holy writ, verbum 
Domini projecerunt, et sapientia est nulla in eis — they have 
cast forth the word of the Lord, and there is no wisdom in 
them; propterea dabo mulieres eorum exteris — I will give 
their women to strangers, that is to the Templar, as in 
the present matter; et tliesauros eorum hceredibus alienis , 
and their treasures to others 2 — as in the present case to 
these honest gentlemen.” 

Isaac groaned deeply, and began to wring his hands, and 

1 Robert, Abbot of Molesme (1018-1110), the founder of the Cister- 
cian Order. 

2 The passage quoted here will be found in Jeremiah viii. 10. 


376 


I VAN HOE 


to relapse into his state of desolation and despair. But 
the leader of the yeomen led him aside. 

“ Advise thee well, Isaac,” said Locksley, “ what thou 
wilt do in this matter; my counsel to thee is to make a 
friend of this churchman. He is vain, Isaac, and he is 
covetous; at least, he needs money to supply his profusion. 
Thou canst easily gratify his greed; for think not that I am 
blinded by thy pretexts of poverty. I am intimately ac- 
quainted, Isaac, with the very iron chest in which thou 
dost keep thy money-bags. What! know I not the great 
stone beneath the apple-tree, that leads into the vaulted 
chamber under thy garden at York?” The Jew grew 
as pale as death. “ But fear nothing from me,” con- 
tinued the yeoman, “ for we are of old acquainted. Dost 
thou not remember the sick yeoman whom thy fair daugh- 
ter Rebecca redeemed from the gyves at York, and kept 
him in thy house till his health was restored, when thou 
didst dismiss him recovered, and with a piece of money? — 
Usurer as thou art, thou didst never place coin at better 
interest than that poor silver mark, for it has this day saved 
thee five hundred crowns.” 

“ And thou art he whom we called Diccon Bend-the-Bow ? ” 
said Isaac; “I thought ever I knew the accent of thy voice.” 

“ I am Bend-the-Bow,” said the Captain, “ and Locksley, 
and have a good name besides all these.” 

“ But thou art mistaken, good Bend-the-Bow, concern- 
ing that same vaulted apartment. So help me Heaven, as 
there is nought in it hut some merchandises which I will 
gladly part with to you — one hundred yards of Lincoln 
green to make doublets to thy men, and a hundred staves 
of Spanish yew to make hows, and a hundred silken how- 
strings, tough, round, and sound — these will I send thee 
for thy good-will, honest Diccon, an thou wilt keep silence 
about the vault, my good Diccon.” 

“ Silent as a dormouse,” said the Outlaw; “ and never 
trust me hut I am grieved for thy daughter. But I may 
not help it. The Templar’s lances are too strong for my 
archery in the open field — 'they would scatter us like dust. 
Had I hut known it was Rebecca when she was borne off, 
something might have been done; but now thou must needs 
proceed by policy. Come, shall I treat for thee with the 
Prior? ” 


IV AN HOE 377 

u In God’s name, Diccon, an thon canst, aid me to re- 
cover the child of my bosom! ” 

“ Do not thou interrupt me with thine ill-timed avarice/’ 
said the Outlaw, “ and I will deal with him in thy behalf.” 

lie then turned from the Jew, who followed him, how- 
ever, as closely as his shadow. 

“ Prior Aymer,” said the Captain, “ come apart with me 
under this tree. Men say thou dost love wine, and a lady’s 
smile, better than beseems thy Order, Sir Priest; hut with 
that I have nought to do. I have heard, too, thou dost 
love a brace of good dogs and a fleet horse, and it may well 
he that, loving things which are costly to come by, thou 
hatest not a purse of gold. But I have never heard that 
thou didst love oppression or cruelty. — Now, here is Isaac 
willing to give thee the means of pleasure and pastime in 
a hag containing one hundred marks of silver, if thy inter- 
cession with thine ally the Templar shall avail to procure 
the freedom of his daughter.” 

“ In safety and honour, as when taken from me,” said the 
Jew, “ otherwise it is no bargain.” 

“ Peace, Isaac,” said the Outlaw, “ or I give up thine 
interest. — What say you to this my purpose, Prior Aymer?” 

“ The matter,” quoth the Prior, “ is of a mixed condi- 
tion; for, if I do a good deed on the one hand, yet, on the 
other, it goeth to the vantage of a Jew, and in so much 
is against my conscience. Yet, if the Israelite will advan- 
tage the Church by giving me somewhat over to the build- 
ing of our dortour,* I will take it on my conscience to aid 
him in the matter of his daughter.” 

“ For a score of marks to the dortour,” said the Outlaw. 
— “Be still, I say, Isaac! — or for a brace of silver candle- 
sticks to the altar, we will not stand with you.” 

“ Nay, but, good Diccon Bend-the-Bow — ” said Isaac, 
endeavouring to interpose. 

“ Good Jew — good beast — good earthworm! ” said the 
yeoman, losing patience; “ an thou dost go on to put thy 
filthy lucre in the balance with thy daughter’s life and 
honour, by heaven, I will strip thee of every maravedi 1 
thou hast in the world, before three days are out! ” 

Isaac shrunk together, and was silent. 

* Dortour, or dormitory. [Scott.] 

1 A copper coin worth iess than a farthing. 


3TB 


IVAN HOF, 


“ And what pledge am I to have for all this? ” said the 
Prior. 

“ When Isaac returns successful through your media- 
tion,” said the Outlaw, “ I swear by Saint Hubert, I will 
see that he pays thee the money in good silver, or I will 
reckon with him for it in such sort, he had better have paid 
twenty such sums.” 

“ Well then, Jew,” said Aymer, “ since I must needs 
meddle in this matter, let me have the use of thy writing- 
tablets — though, hold — rather than use thy pen, I would 
fast for twenty-four hours, and where shall I find one ? ” 

“ If your holy scruples can dispense with using the J ew’s 
tablets, for the pen I can find a remedy,” said the yeoman; 
and, bending his bow, he aimed his shaft at a wild-goose 
which was soaring over their heads, the advanced-guard of 
a phalanx of his tribe, which were winging their way to 
the distant and solitary fens of Ilolderness . 1 The bird 
came fluttering down, transfixed with the arrow. 

“ There, Prior,” said the Captain, “ are quills enow to 
supply all the monks of Jorvaulx for the next hundred 
years, an they take not to writing chronicles.” 

The Prior sat down, and at great leisure indited an 
epistle to Brian de Bois-Guilbert, and having carefully 
sealed up the tablets, delivered them to the Jew, saying, 
“ This will be thy safe-conduct to the Preceptory of Tem- 
plestowe, and, as I think, is most likely to accomplish the 
delivery of thy daughter, if it be well backed with proffers 
of advantage and commodity at thine own hand; for, trust 
me well, the good Knight Bois-Guilbert is of their con- 
fraternity 2 that do nought for nought.” 

“ Well, Prior,” said the Outlaw, “ I will detain thee no 
longer here than to give the Jew a quittance for the six 
hundred crowns at which thy ransom is fixed — I accept of 
him for my pay-master; and if I hear that ye boggle at 
allowing him in his accompts the sum so paid by him, Saint 
Mary refuse me, an I burn not the abbey over thine head, 
though I hang ten years the sooner! ” 

With a much worse grace than that wherewith he had 
penned the letter to Bois-Guilbert, the Prior wrote an 

1 The low land between the North Sea and the Humber, in the 
East Riding of Yorkshire. 

2 Belongs to the class. 


IV AN BOH 


379 


acquittance, discharging Isaac of York of six hundred 
crowns, advanced to him in his need for acquittal of his 
ransom, and faithfully promising to hold true compt 1 with 
him for that sum. 

“ And now,” said Pryor Aymer, “ I will pray you of 
restitution of my mules and palfreys, and the freedom of 
the reverend brethren attending upon me, and also of the 
gymmal rings, jewels, and fair vestures of which I have 
been despoiled, having now satisfied you for my ransom as 
a true prisoner.” 

“ Touching your brethren, Sir Prior,” said Locksley, 
“ they shall have present freedom, it were unjust to detain 
them; touching your horses and mules, they shall also be 
restored, with such spending money as may enable you to 
reach York, for it were cruel to deprive you of the means 
of journeying. — But as concerning rings, jewels, chains, 
and what else, you must understand that we are men of 
tender consciences, and will not yield to a venerable man 
like yourself, who should be dead to the vanities of this 
life, the strong temptation to break the rule of his founda- 
tion, by wearing rings, chains, or other vain gauds.” 

“ Think what you clo, my masters,” said the Prior, “ ere 
you put your hand on the Church’s patrimony. These 
things are inter res sacras , 2 and I wot not what judgment 
might ensue were they to be handled by laical hands.” 

“ I will take care of that, reverend Prior,” said the Her- 
mit of Copmanhurst; “ for I will wear them myself.” 

“ Friend, or brother,” said the Prior, in answer to this 
solution of his doubts, “ if thou hast really taken religious 
orders, I pray thee to look how thou wilt answer to thine 
official for the share thou hast taken in this day’s work.” 

“ Friend Prior,” returned the Hermit, “ you are to know 
that I belong to a little diocese, where I am my own 
diocesan , 3 and care as little for the Bishop of York as 
I do for the Abbot of Jorvaulx, the Prior, and all the 
convent.” 

“ Thou art utterly irregular,” said the Prior; “ one of 
those disorderly men who, taking on them the sacred ehar- 

* Reckoning. 

2 “ Among sacred things.” 

3 The diocese is the district within which the bishop exercises 
authority, and hence he is called the diocesan. 


380 


IV AM JOE 


acter without due cause, profane the holy rites, and endan- 
ger the souls of those who take counsel at their hands; 
lapides pro pane condonantcs Us, giving them stones instead 
of bread, as the Vulgate hath it.” 1 

“ Nay,” said the Friar, “ an my brain-pan could have 
been broken by Latin, it had not held so long together. — I 
say, that easing a world of such misproud 2 priests as thou 
art, of their jewels and their gimcracks, is a lawful spoiling 
of the Egyptians.” 3 

“ Thou be’st a hedge-priest,” * said the Prior, in great 
wrath; “ excommunicato vos .” 

“ Thou be’st thyself more like a thief and a heretic,” said 
the Friar, equally indignant; “ I w r ill pouch up 4 no such 
affront before my parishioners, as thou thinkest it not 
shame to put upon me, although I he a reverend brother to 
thee. Ossa ejus perfringam, I will break your hones, as the 
Vulgate hath it.” 5 

“Hola!” cried the Captain, “ come the reverend breth- 
ren to such terms? — Keep thine assurance of peace, Friar. 
— Prior, an thou hast not made thy peace perfect with 
God, provoke the Friar no further. — Hermit, let the rev- 
erend father depart in peace, as a ransomed man.” 

The yeomen separated the incensed priests, who con- 
tinued to raise their voices, vituperating each other in had 
Latin, which the Prior delivered the more fluently, and 
the Hermit with the greater vehemence. The Prior at 
length recollected himself sufficiently to he aware that he 
was compromising his dignity by squabbling with such a 
hedge-priest as the Outlaw’s chaplain; and being joined by 
his attendants, rode off with considerably less pomp, and 
in a much more apostolical condition, so far as worldly 
matters were concerned, than he had exhibited before this 
rencounter. 

It remained that the Jew should produce some security 
for the ransom which he was to pay oh the Prior’s account, 
as well as upon his own. He gave, accordingly, an order, 
sealed with his signet, to a brother of his tribe at York, 
requiring him to pay to the hearer the sum of a thousand G 

* Note G. Hedge-Priests. [Scott.] 

1 Luke xi. 11. 2 Arrogant. 

3 Exodus xii. 36. 4 Pocket. 

6 Isaiah xxxviii. 13. 6 Eleven hundred ? 


1 VAN ROE 381 

crowns, and to deliver certain merchandises specified in the 
note. 

“My brother Sheva,” he said, groaning deeply, “hath 
the key of my warehouses.” 

“ And of the vaulted chamber,” whispered Locksley. 

“No, no — may Heaven forefend! ” said Isaac; “evil is 
the hour that let any one whomsoever into that secret! ” 

“ It is safe with me,” said the Outlaw, “ so be that this 
thy scroll produce the sum therein nominated and set 
down. — But what now, Isaac? art dead? art stupified? hath 
the payment of a thousand crowns put thy daughter’s peril 
out of thy mind? ” 

The Jew started to his feet. “ No, Diccon, no — I will 
presently set forth. — Farewell, thou whom I may not call 
good, and dare not and will not call evil.” 

Yet ere Isaac departed, the Outlaw Chief bestowed on 
him this parting advice: — “ Be liberal of thine offers, Isaac, 
and spare not thy purse for thy daughter’s safety. Credit 
me, that the gold thou shalt spare in her cause will here- 
after give thee as much agony as if it were poured molten 
down thy throat.” 

Isaac acquiesced with a deep groan, and set forth on his 
journey, accompanied by two tall foresters, who were to be 
his guides, and at the same time his guards, through the 
wood. 

The Black Knight, who had seen with no small interest 
these various proceedings, now took his leave of the Outlaw 
in turn; nor could he avoid expressing his surprise at hav- 
ing witnessed so much of civil policy amongst persons cast 
out from all the ordinary protection and influence of the 
laws. 

“ Good fruit, Sir Ivnight,” said the yeoman, “ will some- 
times grow on a sorry tree; and evil times are not always 
productive of evil alone and unmixed. Amongst those who 
are drawn into this lawless state, there are, doubtless, num- 
bers who wish to exercise its license with some moderation, 
and some who regret, it may be, that they are obliged to 
follow such a trade at all.” 

“ And to one of those,” said the Knight, “ I am now, I 
presume, speaking ? ” 

“ Sir Knight,” said the Outlaw, “ we have each our 
secret. You are welcome to form your judgment of me, 


382 


IVAN HOE 


and I may use my conjectures touching you, though neither 
of our shafts may hit the mark they are shot at. But as I 
do not pray to be admitted into your mystery, be not 
offended that I preserve my own.” 

“ I crave pardon, brave Outlaw,” said the Knight, “ your 
reproof is just. But it may be we shall meet hereafter 
with less of concealment on either side. — Meanwhile we 
part friends, do we not? ” 

“ There is my hand upon it,” said Locksley; “ and I will 
call it the hand of a true Englishman, though an outlaw 
for the present.” 

“ And there is mine in return,” said the Knight, “ and I 
hold it honoured by being clasped with yours. For he that 
does good, having the unlimited power to do evil, deserves 
praise not only for the good which he performs, but for the 
evil which he forbears. Fare thee well, gallant Outlaw! ” 

Thus parted that fair fellowship; and he of the Fetter- 
lock, mounting upon his strong war-horse, rode off through 
the forest. 

[In this continuation of the comic interlude, begun in the preced- 
ing chapter, note the ease and skill with which national and profes- 
sional types of character are contrasted with each other. The 
humorous situation involved in making Isaac and the Prior fix each 
other’s ransom is thoroughly characteristic of Scott. Mark his power 
of shifting sympathy from one side to the other, and of changing the 
tone of description toward the end of the chapter, as more serious 
interests again assert their claims upon the reader.] 


CHAPTER XXXIY 


King John. I’ll tell thee what, my friend, 

He is a very serpent in my way ; 

And wheresoe’er this foot of mine doth tread, 

He lies before me. — Dost thou understand me ? 

King John. 

There was brave feasting in the Castle of York , 1 to 
which Prince John had invited those nobles, prelates, and 
leaders by whose assistance he hoped to carry through his 
ambitious projects upon his brother’s throne. Waldemar 
Fitzurse, his able and politic agent, was at secret work 
among them, tempering all to that pitch of courage which 
was necessary in making an open declaration of their pur- 
pose. But their enterprise was delayed by the absence of 
more than one main limb of the confederacy. The stub- 
born and daring, though brutal courage of Front-de-Boeuf; 
the buoyant spirits and bold bearing of De Bracy; the 
sagacity, martial experience, and renowned valour of 
Brian de Bois-Guilbert, were important to the success of 
their conspiracy; and, while cursing in secret their un- 
necessary 7 and unmeaning absence, neither John nor his 
adviser dared to proceed without them. Isaac the Jew also 
seemed to have vanished, and with him the hope of certain 
sums of money, making up the subsidy for which Prince 
John had contracted with that Israelite and his brethren. 
This deficiency was likely to prove perilous in an emer- 
gency so critical. 

It was on the morning after the fall of Torquilstone 
that a confused report began to spread abroad in the city 
of York, that De Bracy and Bois-Guilbert, with their con- 
federate Front-de-Bceuf, had been taken or slain. Walde- 
mar brought the rumour to Prince John, announcing that 

1 York Castle was built by William the Conqueror, who took the 
city in 1068. It was the scene of the massacre of the Jews during 
the reign of Richard I. Clifford’s Tower, built in the reign of Edward 
I (1272-1307), now occupies the site of the ancient keep. 


384 


1 V AN II OE 


lie feared its truth the more, that they had set out with a 
small attendance for the purpose of committing an assault 
on the Saxon Cedric and his attendants. At another time 
the Prince would have treated this deed of violence as a 
good jest;' hut now that it interfered with and impeded his 
own plans, he exclaimed against the perpetrators, and spoke 
of the broken laws, and the infringement of public order 
and of private property, in a tone which might have become 
King Alfred. 

“ The unprincipled marauders! ” he said. “ Were I ever 
to become monarch of England, I would hang such trans- 
gressors over the drawbridges of their own castles.” 

“ But to become monarch of England,” said his Ahitho- 
phel 1 coolly, “ it is necessary not only that your Grace 
should endure the transgressions of these unprincipled 
marauders, but that you should afford them your protec- 
tion, notwithstanding your laudable zeal for the laws they 
are in the habit of infringing. We shall he finely helped 
if the churl Saxons should have realized your Grace’s vision 
of converting feudal drawbridges into gibbets; and yonder 
bold-spirited Cedric seemeth one to whom such an imagina- 
tion might occur. Your Grace is well aware, it will be 
dangerous to stir without Front-de-Boeuf, De Bracy, and 
the Templar; and yet we have gone too far to recede with 
safety.” 

Prince John struck his forehead with impatience, and 
then began to stride up and down the apartment. 

“ The villains,” he said, “ the base, treacherous villains, 
to desert me at this pinch! ” 

“ Kay, say rather the feather-pated giddy madmen,” said 
Waldemar, “ who must be toying with follies when such 
business was in hand.” 

“What is to be done?” said the Prince, stopping short 
before Waldemar. 

“ I know nothing which can be done,” answered his 
counsellor, “ save that which I have already taken order 
for. — I came not to bewail this evil chance with your Grace, 
until I had done my best to remedy it.” 

1 Also spelled Achitophel; the counsellor of David and of Absalom, 
famous for his political wisdom. See 2 Samuel xv. 12-xvii. 23, in- 
clusive. In Dryden’s poem, Absalom and Achitophel, the name 
stands for the Earl of Shaftesbury. 


IV AN HOE 


385 


“ Thou art ever my better angel, Waldemar,” said the 
Prince; “and when I have such a chancellor to advise 
withal, the reign of J ohn will he renowned in our annals. — 
What hast thou commanded?” 

“ I have ordered Louis Winkelbrand, De Bracy’s lieu- 
tenant, to cause his trumpet sound to horse, and to display 
his banner, and to set presently forth towards the castle of 
Front-de-Boeuf, to do what yet may be done for the succour 
of our friends.” 

Prince John’s face flushed with the pride of a spoilt 
child, who has undergone what it conceives to be an insult. 

“By the face of God!” he said, “Waldemar Fitzurse, 
much hast thou taken upon thee! and over malapert thou 
wert to cause trumpet to blow, or banner to be raised, in a 
town where ourselves were in presence, without our express 
command.” 

“ I crave your Grace’s pardon,” said Fitzurse, internally 
cursing the idle vanity of his patron; “ but when time 
pressed, and even the loss of minutes might be fatal, I 
judged it best to take this much burden upon me, in a 
matter of such importance to your Grace’s interest.” 

“ Thou art pardoned, Fitzurse,” said the Prince gravely; 
“ thy purpose hath atoned for thy hasty rashness. — But 
whom have we here? — De Bracy himself, by the rood! — and 
in strange guise doth he come before us.” 

It was indeed De Bracy — “ bloody with spurring, fiery 
red with speed.” 1 His armour bore all the marks of the 
late obstinate fray, being broken, defaced, and stained with 
blood in many places, and covered with clay and dust from 
the crest to the spur. Undoing his helmet, he placed it on 
the table, and stood a moment as if to collect himself before 
he told his news. 

“ De Bracy,” said Prince John, “what means this? — 
Speak, I charge thee! — Are the Saxons in rebellion? ” 

“ Speak, De Bracy,” said Fitzurse, almost in the same 
moment with his master, “ thou wert wont to be . a man. 
Where is the Templar? — where Front-de-Boeuf? ” 

“ The Templar is fled,” said De Bracy; “ Front-de-Boeuf 
you will never see more. He has found a red grave among 
the blazing rafters of his own castle, and I alone am escaped 
to tell you.” 


25 


1 Richard II, ii, 3, 58. 


386 


I VAN IIOE 


“ Cold news,” said Waldemar, “ to us, though, you speak 
of fire and conflagration.” 

“ The worse news is not yet said,” answered De Bracy; 
and, coming up to Prince John, he uttered in a low and 
emphatic tone — “ Richard is in England — I have seen and 
spoken with him.” 

Prince John turned pale, tottered, and caught at the 
hack of an oaken bench to support himself — much like a 
man who receives an arrow in his bosom. 

“ Thou ravest, De Bracy,” said Fitzurse; “ it cannot be.” 

“ It is as true as truth itself,” said De Bracy ; M I was his 
prisoner, and spoke with him.” 

“With Richard Plantagenet, sayest thou?” continued 
Fitzurse. 

“ With Richard Plantagenet,” replied De Bracy, “ with 
Richard Coeur-de-Lion — with Richard of England.” 

“And thou wert his prisoner?” said Waldemar; “he is 
then at the head of a power? ” 

“ No — only a few outlawed yeomen were around him, 
and to these his person is unknown. I heard him say he 
was about to depart from them. He joined them only to 
assist at the storming of Torquilstone.” 

“ Ay,” said Fitzurse, “ such is indeed the fashion of 
Richard — a true knight-errant he, and will wander in wild 
adventure, trusting the prowess of his single arm, like any 
Sir Guy 1 or Sir Bevis , 2 while the weighty affairs of his 
kingdom slumber, and his own safety is endangered. — • 
What dost thou propose to do, De Bracy? ” 

“ I ? — I offered Richard the service of my Free Lances, 
and he refused them. I will lead them to Hull , 3 seize on 
shipping, and embark for Flanders; thanks to the bustling 
times, a man of action will always find employment. And 
thou, Waldemar, wilt thou take lance and shield, and lay 
down thy policies, and wend along with me, and share the 
fate which God sends us? ” 

“ I am too old, Maurice, and I have a daughter,” an- 
swered Waldemar. 

1 Guy of Warwick, a legendary English hero, who performed vari- 

ous feats of valour. 

3 Bevis of Hampton, a knight whose adventures are celebrated in 
Arthurian romance and in Drayton’s Polyolbion. 

3 A town in the East Riding, on the Humber. 


IVANHOE 


387 


“ Give her to me, Fitzurse, and I will maintain her as 
fits her rank, with the help of lance and stirrup,” said De 
Bracy. 

“ Not so,” answered Fitzurse; “ I will take sanctuary 1 
in this church of Saint Peter 2 — the Archbishop 3 is my 
sworn brother.” 

During this discourse, Prince John had gradually awak- 
ened from the stupor into which he had been thrown by the 
unexpected intelligence, and had been attentive to the con- 
versation which passed betwixt his followers. “ They fall 
off from me,” he said to himself; “ they hold no more by 
me than a withered leaf by the bough when a breeze blows 
on it? — Hell and fiends! can I shape no means for myself 
when I am deserted by these cravens?” — He paused, and 
there was an expression of diabolical passion in the con- 
strained laugh with which he at length broke in on their 
conversation. 

“ Ha, ha, ha! my good lords, by the light of Our Lady’s 
brow, I held ye sage men, bold men, ready-witted men; yet 
ye throw down wealth, honour, pleasure, all that our noble 
game promised you, at the moment it might be won by one 
bold cast! ” 

“ I understand you not,” said De Bracy. “ As soon as 
Bichard’s return is blown abroad, he will be at the head of 
an army, and all is then over with us. I would counsel 
you, my lord, either to fly to France or take the protection 
of the Queen Mother.” 4 

“ I seek no safety for myself,” said Prince John, haugh- 
tily; “ that I could secure by a word spoken to my brother. 
But although you, De Bracy, and you, Waldemar Fitzurse, 
are so ready to abandon me, I should not greatly delight 
to see your heads blackening on Clifford’s gate 5 yonder. 

1 Some churches and other sacred places, by a very ancient custom, 
had the privilege of affording protection from arrest to criminals 
seeking refuge within them. The last sanctuaries for debtors were 
abolished in England in 1697. 

3 York Cathedral, one of the finest in England. 

3 The Archbishop of York at this time was Geoffrey, a half-brother 
of Richard I and John. lie joined in the latter’s conspiracy. 

4 Eleanor of Aquitaine, the widow of Henry II of England, and 
the mother, by an earlier marriage, of King Philip of France. 

5 This gate was in Clifford’s Tower. (See the note on York Castle.) 
Heads of traitors were exposed there during the Wars of the Roses, 
in the fifteenth century. 


388 


IVANHOE 


Thinkest thou, Waldemar, that the wily Archbishop will 
not suffer thee to be taken from the very horns of the altar, 
would it make his peace with King Richard? And for- 
gettest thou, De Bracy, that Robert Estoteville 1 lies be- 
twixt thee and Hull with all his forces, and that the Earl 
of Essex 2 is gathering his followers? If we had reason to 
fear these levies even before Richard’s return, trowest thou 
there is any doubt now which party their leaders will take? 
Trust me, Estoteville alone has strength enough to drive 
all thy Free Lances into the Humber.” 3 — Waldemar Fitz- 
urse and He Bracy looked in each other’s faces with blank 
dismay. — “ There is but one road to safety,” continued the 
Prince, and his brow grew black as midnight; “ this object 
of our terror journeys alone — he must be met withal.” 

“ Hot by me,” said De Bracy, hastily; “ I was his pris- 
oner, and he took me to mercy. I will not harm a feather 
in his crest.” 

“Who spoke of harming him?” said Prince John, with 
a hardened laugh; “ the knave will say next that I meant he 
should slay him! No — a prison were better; and whether 
in Britain or Austria , 4 what matters it? Things will be 
but as they were when we commenced our enterprise — it 
w r as founded on the hope that Richard would remain a 
captive in Germany. Our uncle Robert 6 lived and died in 
the castle of Cardiffe.” 

“ Ay, but,” said Waldemar, “ your sire Henry 5 sate more 
firm in his seat than your Grace can. I say the best prison 
is that which is made by the sexton — no dungeon like a 
church-vault! I have said my say.” 

“ Prison or tomb,” said De Bracy, “ I wash my hands of 
the whole matter.” 

“Villain!” said Prince John, “thou wouldst not be- 
wray 6 our counsel? ” 

1 There was a sheriff of Yorkshire by this name in Henry II’s 
reign, who was loyal to the king. 

2 Geoffrey Fitz Peter, the justiciar of the realm during Richard’s 
absence. 

3 The estuary which divides Yorkshire from Lincolnshire. 

4 An allusion to Richard’s captivity in the Austrian Alps. 

6 Robert, the eldest son of William the Conqueror, was kept a pris- 
oner by his brother Henry I (the grandfather, not “sire,” of Richard 
and John), from 1106 until his death in 1134. 

0 Betray, 


IVANHOE 


389 


“ Counsel was never bewrayed by me” said De Bracy, 
haughtily, “ nor must the name of villain be coupled with 
mine! ” 

“ Peace, Sir Knight!” said Waldemar; “ and you, good 
my lord, forgive the scruples of valiant De Bracy; I trust 
I shall soon remove them.” 

“ That passes your eloquence, Fitzurse,” replied the 
Knight. 

“ Why, good Sir Maurice,” rejoined the wily politician, 

“ start not aside like a scared steed, without, at least, con- 
sidering the object of your terror. This Richard — but a 
day since, and it would have been thy dearest wish to have 
met him hand to hand in the ranks of battle — a hundred 
times I have heard thee wish it.” 

“ Ay,” said De Bracy, “ but that was as thou sayest, hand * 
to hand, and in the ranks of battle! Thou never heardest 
me breathe a thought of assaulting him alone, and in a 
forest.” 

“ Thou art no good knight if thou dost scruple at it,” 
said Waldemar. “ Was it in battle that Lancelot de Lac 1 
and Sir Tristram 1 won renown? or was it not by encounter- 
ing gigantic knights under the shade of deep and unknown 
forests? ” 

“ Ay, but I promise you,” said De Bracy, “ that neither 
Tristram nor Lancelot would have been match, hand to 
hand, for Richard Plantagenet, and I think it was not their 
wont to take odds against a single man.” 

“ Thou art mad, De Bracy. What is it we propose to 
thee, a hired and retained captain of Free Companions, 
whose swords are purchased for Prince John’s service? 
Thou art apprized of our enemy, and then thou scruplest, 
though thy patron’s fortunes, those of thy comrades, thine 
own, and the life and honour of every one amongst us, be 
at stake! ” 

“ I tell you,” said De Bracy, sullenly, “ that he gave me 
my life. True, he sent me from his presence, and refused 
my homage — so far I owe him neither favour nor allegiance 
— but I will not lift hand against him.” 

“ It needs not — send Louis Winkelbrand and a score of 
thy lances.” 

1 Famous knights in the Arthurian romances. Both figure promi- 
nently in Tennyson’s Idylls of the King . 


390 


I VA N 110 E 


“ Ye have sufficient ruffians of your own/’ said De Bracy; 
“ not one of mine shall budge on such an errand.” 

“ Art thou so obstinate, De Bracy?” said Prince John; 
“ and wilt thou forsake me, after so many protestations of 
zeal for my service ? ” 

“ *1 mean it not,” said De Bracy; “ I will abide by you 
in aught that becomes a knight, whether in the lists or in 
the camp; but this highway practice comes not within my 
vow.” 

“ Come hither, Waldemar,” said Prince John. “ An un- 
happy prince am I. My father, King Henry, had faithful 
servants — he had but to say that he was plagued with a 
factious priest, and the blood of Thomas a Becket, saint 
though he was, stained the steps of his own altar. — Tracy, 
Morville, Brito,* loyal and daring subjects, your names, 
your spirit, are extinct! and although Reginald Fitzurse 
hath left a son, he hath fallen off from his father’s fidelity 
and courage.” 

“ He has fallen off from neither,” said Waldemar Fitz- 
urse; “ and since it may not better be, I will take on me 
the conduct of this perilous enterprise. Dearly, however, 
did my father purchase the praise of a zealous friend; and 
yet did his proof of loyalty to Henry fall far short of what 
I am about to afford; for rather would I assail a whole 
calendar of saints than put spear in rest against Cceur-de- 
Lion. — De Bracy, to thee I must trust to keep up the spirits 
of the doubtful, and to guard Prince John’s person. If 
you receive such news as I trust to send you, our enterprise 
will no longer wear a doubtful aspect. — Page,” he said, 
“ hie to my lodgings* and tell my armourer to be there in 
readiness; and bid Stephen Wetheral, Broad Thoresby, and 
the Three Spears of Spyinghow come to me instantly; and 
let the scout-master, Hugh Bardon, attend me also. — 
Adieu, my Prince, till better times.” Thus speaking, he 
left the apartment. 

“ He goes to make my brother prisoner,” said Prince 
John to De Bracy, “ with as little touch of compunction as 
if it but concerned the liberty of a Saxon franklin. I trust 

* Reginald Fitzurse, William de Tracy, Hugh de Morville, and 
Richard Brito, were the gentlemen of Henry the Second’s household, 
who, instigated by some passionate expressions of their sovereign, 
slew the celebrated Thomas a Becket. [Scott.] 


IV AN IIO E 


391 


he will observe our orders, and use our dear Richard’s 
person with all due respect.” 

De Bracy only answered by a smile. 

“ By the light of Our Lady’s brow,” said Prince John, 
“ our orders to him were most precise — though it may be 
you heard them not, as we stood together in the oriel win- 
dow. Most clear and positive was our charge that Richard’s 
safety should be cared for, and woe to Waldemar’s head if 
he transgress it! ” 

“ I had better pass to his lodgings,” said De Bracy, “ and 
make him fully aware of your Grace’s pleasure; for, as it 
quite escaped my ear, it may not perchance have reached 
that of Waldemar.” 

“Nay, nay,” said Prince John, impatiently, “I promise 
thee he heard me; and, besides, I have farther occupation 
for thee. Maurice, come hither; let me lean on thy 
shoulder.” 

They walked a turn through the hall in this familiar 
posture, and Prince John, with an air of the most con- 
fidential intimacy, proceeded to say, “ What thinkes't thou 
of this Waldemar Fitzurse, my De Bracv? — He trusts to be 
our Chancellor. Surely we will pause ere we give an office 
so high to one who shows evidently how little he reverences 
our blood, by his so readily undertaking this enterprise 
against Richard. Thou dost think, I warrant, that thou 
hast lost somewhat of our regard, by thv boldly declining 
this unpleasing task. But no, Maurice! I rather honour 
thee for thy virtuous constancy. There are things most 
necessary to be done, the perpetrator of which we neither 
love nor honour; and there may be refusals to serve us, 
which shall rather exalt in our estimation those who deny 
our request. The arrest of my unfortunate brother forms 
no such good title to the high office of Chancellor as thy 
chivalrous and courageous denial establishes in thee to the 
truncheon of High Marshal. Think of this, De Bracy, 
and begone to thy charge.” 

“ Fickle tyrant! ” muttered De Bracy, as he left the 
presence of the Prince; “ evil luck have they who trust thee. 
Thy Chancellor, indeed! — He who hath the keeping of 
thy conscience shall have an easy charge, I trow. But 
High Marshal of England! that,” he said, extending his 
arm, as if to grasp the baton of office, and assuming a 


392 


IVANHOE 


loftier stride along the antechamber, “ that is indeed a 
prize worth playing for! ” 

De Bracy had no sooner left the apartment than Prince 
John summoned an attendant. 

“ Bid Hugh Bardon, our scout-master, come. hither, as 
soon as he shall have spoken with Waldemar Fitzurse.” 

The scout-master arrived after a brief delay, during 
which John traversed the apartment with unequal and dis- 
ordered steps. 

“ Bardon,” said he, “ what did Waldemar desire of 
thee ? ” 

“ Two resolute men, well acquainted with these northern 
wilds, and skilful in tracking the tread of man and horse.” 

“ And thou hast fitted him? ” 

“ Let your Grace never trust me else,” answered the 
master of the spies. “ One is from Hexam shire 1 ; he is 
wont to trace the Tynedale 2 and Teviotdale 3 thieves, as a 
bloodhound follows the slot 4 of a hurt deer. The other is 
Yorkshire bred, and has twanged his bowstring right oft 
in merry Sherwood; he knows each glade and dingle, copse 
and high-wood, betwixt this and Richmond.” 5 

“ ’Tis well,” said the Prince. — “ Goes Waldemar forth 
with them ? ” 

“ Instantly,” said Bardon. 

“ With what attendance?” asked John, carelessly. 

“ Broad Thoresby goes with him, and Wetheral, whom 
they call, for his cruelty, Stephen Steel-heart; and three 
northern men-at-arms that belonged to Ralph Middleton’s 
gang — they are called the Spears of Spyinghow.” 

“ ’Tis well,” said Prince John; then added, after a 
moment’s pause, “ Bardon, it imports our service that thou 
keep a strict watch on Maurice de Bracy — so that he shall 
not observe it, however — and let us know of his motions 
from time to time — with whom he converses, what he pro- 
poseth. Fail not in this, as thou wilt be answerable.” 

Hugh Bardon bowed, and retired. 

1 In Northumberland. 

2 The valley of the Tyne, a river which empties into the North Sea 
at Tynemouth. 

3 The Teviot is a river in Roxburghshire, running into the Tweed. 
Teviotdale is a name often given to Roxburghshire itself. 

4 Track. 

6 A town in the North Riding of Yorkshire. 


I VAN ITOE 


393 


“ If Maurice betrays me,” said Prince John — “ if be 
betrays me, as his bearing leads me to fear, I will have his 
head, were Richard thundering at the gates of York.” 

[In the delineation of well-known historical figures, like Richard 
and John, how far do you think the novelist is forced to adopt 
the popular conception of the figure ? Is Scott’s depiction of the 
natural treachery of John in accordance with all we know of that 
prince ? Compare Shakespeare’s King John. In an historical novel, 
is it better that some great historical personage should be the leading 
figure, or may that place be better filled by a fictitious character ? 
Study Scott’s varying methods in The Abbot , The Talisman , Kenil- 
worth, Quentin Burward, Woodstock, and elsewhere.] 


CHAPTER XXXV 


Arouse the tiger of Hyrcanian deserts, 

Strive with the half-starved lion for his prey ; 

Lesser the risk, than rouse the slumbering fire 
Of wild Fanaticism. 

Anonymous. 

Our tale now returns to Isaac of York. — Mounted upon 
a mule, the gift of the Outlaw, with two tall yeomen to act 
as his guard and guides, the Jew had set out for the Pre- 
ceptory of Templestowe, for the purpose of negotiating his 
daughter’s redemption. The Preceptory was but a day’s 
journey from the demolished castle of Torquilstone, and 
the Jew had hoped to reach it before nightfall; accordingly, 
having dismissed his guides at the verge of the forest, and 
rewarded them with a piece of silver, he began to press on 
with such speed as his weariness permitted him to exert. 
But his strength failed him totally ere he had reached 
within four miles of the Temple Court; racking pains shot 
along his back and through his limbs, and the excessive 
anguish which he felt at heart being now augmented by 
bodily suffering, he was rendered altogether incapable of 
proceeding farther than a small market-town, where dwelt 
a J ewish Rabbi of his tribe, eminent in the medical profes- 
sion, and to whom Isaac was well known. Nathan Ben 
Israel received his suffering countryman with that kindness 
which the law prescribed, and which the Jews practised to 
each other. He insisted on his betaking himself to repose, 
and used such remedies as were then in most repute to 
check the progress of the fever, which terror, fatigue, ill 
usage, and sorrow had brought upon the poor old Jew. 

On the morrow, when Isaac proposed to arise and pursue 
his journey, Nathan remonstrated against his purpose, both 
as his host and as his physician. It might cost him, he 
said, his life. But Isaac replied that more than life and 


I VAN HOE 


395 


death depended upon his going that morning to Temple- 
stowe. 

“ To Templestowe! ” said his host with surprise; again 
felt his pulse, and then muttered to himself, “ His fever is 
abated, yet seems his mind somewhat alienated and dis- 
turbed.” 

“ And why not to Templestowe? ” answered his patient. 
“ I grant thee, Nathan, that it is a dwelling of those to 
whom the despised Children of the Promise are a stum- 
bling-block and an abomination; yet thou knowest that 
pressing affairs of traffic sometimes carry us among these 
bloodthirsty Nazarene soldiers, and that we visit the Pre- 
ceptories of the Templars, as well as the Commanderies of 
the Knights Hospitallers, as they are called.” * 

“ I know it well,” said Nathan; “ but wottest thou that 
Lucas de Beaumanoir , 1 the chief of their Order, and whom 
they term Grand Master, is now himself at Templestowe? ” 

“ I know it not,” said Isaac; “ our last letters from our 
brethren at Paris advised us that he was at that city, be- 
seeching Philip 2 for aid against the Sultan Saladin.” 

“ He hath since come to England, unexpected by his 
brethren,” said Ben Israel; “ and he cometh among them 
with a strong and outstretched arm to correct and to pun- 
ish. His countenance is kindled in anger against those 
who have departed from the vow which they have made, 
and great is the fear of those sons of Belial. Thou must 
have heard of his name? ” 

“ It is well known unto me,” said Isaac; “ the Gentiles 
deliver 3 this Lucas Beaumanoir as a man zealous to slaying 
for every point of the Nazarene law; and our brethren 
have termed him a fierce destroyer of the Saracens, and a 
cruel tyrant to the Children of the Promise.” 

“ And truly have they termed him,” said Nathan the 
physician. “ Other Templars may he moved from the pur- 

* The establishments of the Knight Templars were called Precep- 
tories, and the title of those who presided in the Order was Preceptor; 
as the principal Knights of Saint John were termed Commanders, 
and their houses Commanderies. But these terms were sometimes, 
it would seem, used indiscriminately. [Scott.] 

1 This is a fictitious name. Robert de Sable, Grand Master of the 
Templars, was succeeded in 1194 by Gilbert Horal. 

2 Philip II of France. 

3 Report. 


396 


IV AN IIOE 


pose of their heart by pleasure, or bribed by promise of 
gold and silver; but Beaumanoir is of a different stamp — 
hating sensuality, despising treasure, and pressing forward 
to that which they call the crown of martyrdom — the God 
of Jacob speedily send it unto him, and unto them all! 
Specially hath this proud man extended his glove 1 over the 
children of Judah, as holy David over Edom, holding the 
murder of a Jew to be an offering of as sweet savour as the 
death of a Saracen. Impious and false things has he said 
even of the virtues of our medicines, as if they were the 
devices of Satan — the Lord rebuke him! ” 

“ Nevertheless,” said Isaac, “ I must present myself at 
Templestowe, though he hath made his face like unto a 
fiery furnace seven times heated.” 2 

He then explained to Nathan the pressing cause of his 
journey. The Ilabbi listened with interest, and testified 
his sympathy after the fashion of his people, rending his 
clothes, and saying, “ Ah, my daughter! — ah, my daughter! 
— Alas! for the beauty of Zion! — Alas! for the captivity of 
Israel! ” 

“ Thou seest,” said Isaac, “ how it stands with me, and 
that I may not tarry. Peradventure, the presence of this 
Lucas Beaumanoir, being the chief man over them, may 
turn Brian de Bois-Guilbert from the ill which he doth 
meditate, and that he may deliver.to me my beloved daugh- 
ter Rebecca.” 

“ Go thou,” said Nathan Ben Israel, “ and be wise, for 
wisdom availed Daniel in the den of lions into which he 
was cast; and may it go well with thee, even as thine heart 
wisheth. Yet, if thou canst, keep thee from the presence 
of the Grand Master, for to do foul scorn to our people 
is his morning and evening delight. It may be if thou 
couldst speak with Bois-Guilbert in private, thou shalt 
the better prevail with him; for men say that these accursed 
Nazarenes are not of one mind in the Preceptory — may 
their counsels be confounded and brought to shame! But 
do thou, brother, return to me as if it were to the house 
of thy father, and bring me word how it has sped with 
thee; and well do I hope thou wilt bring with thee Rebecca, 
even the scholar of the wise Miriam, whose cures the Gen- 

1 Psalms lx. 8. 

2 Daniel iii. 19. 


IVANHOE 


397 


tiles slandered as if they had been wrought by necro- 
mancy.” 

Isaac accordingly bade his friend farewell, and about an 
hour’s riding brought him before the Preceptory of Tem- 
plestowe. 

This establishment of the Templars was seated amidst 
fair meadows and pastures, which the devotion of the 
former Preceptor had bestowed upon their Order. It was 
strong and well fortified, a point never neglected by these 
knights, and which the disordered state of England ren- 
dered peculiarly necessary. Two halberdiers, clad in black, 
guarded the drawbridge; and others, in the same sad livery, 
glided to and fro upon the walls with a funereal pace, 
resembling spectres more than soldiers. The inferior 
officers of the Order were thus dressed, ever since their 
use of white garments, similar to those of the knights and 
esquires, had given rise to a combination of certain false 
brethren in the mountains of Palestine, terming them- 
selves Templars, and bringing great dishonour on the 
Order. A knight was now and then seen to cross the court- 
in his long white cloak, his head depressed on his breast, 
and his arms folded. They passed each other, if they 
chanced to meet, with a slow, solemn, and mute greeting; 
for such was the rule of their Order, quoting thereupon the 
holy texts, “ In many words thou shalt not avoid sin,” 1 
and “ Life and death are in the power of the tongue.” 2 
In a word, the stern ascetic rigour of the Temple discipline, 
which had been so long exchanged for prodigal and licen- 
tious indulgence, seemed at once to have revived at Tem- 
plestowe under the severe eye of Lucas Beaumanoir. 

Isaac paused at the gate, to consider how he might seek 
entrance in the manner most likely to bespeak favour; for 
he was well aware that to his unhappy race the reviving 
fanaticism of the Order was not less dangerous than their 
unprincipled licentiousness; and that his religion would 
be the object of hate and persecution in the one case, as 
his wealth would have exposed him in the other to the ex- 
tortions of unrelenting oppression. 

Meantime Lucas Beaumanoir walked in a small garden 
belonging to the Preceptory, included within the precincts 


1 Proverbs x. 19. 

2 Proverbs xviii. 21. 



/ 


/ 

/ 


398 


IVANIIOE 


of its exterior fortification, and held sad and confidential 
communication with a brother of his Order, who had come 
in his company from Palestine. 

The Grand Master was a man advanced in age, as was 
testified by his long grey heard, and the shaggy grey eye- 
brows overhanging eyes, of which, however, years had been 
unable to quench the fire. A formidable warrior, his thin 
and severe features retained the soldier’s fierceness of ex- 
pression; an ascetic bigot, they were no less marked by the 
emaciation of abstinence, and the spiritual pride of the 
self-satisfied devotee. Yet with these severer traits of 
physiognomy there was mixed somewhat striking and 
noble, arising, doubtless, from the great part which his 
high office called upon him to act among monarchs and 
princes, and from the habitual exercise of supreme author- 
ity over the valiant and high-born knights who were 
united by the rules of the Order. His stature was tall, 
and his gait, undepressed by age and toil, was erect and 
stately. His white mantle was shaped with severe regu- 
larity, according to the rule of Saint Bernard 1 himself, 
being composed of what was then called burrel 2 cloth, 
exactly fitted to the size of the wearer, and bearing on the 
left shoulder the octangular cross peculiar to the Order, 
formed of red cloth. Yo vair 3 or ermine decked this gar- 
ment; but in respect of his age, the Grand Master, as per- 
mitted by the rules, wore his doublet lined and trimmed 
with the softest lambskin, dressed with the wool outwards, 
which was the nearest approach he could regularly make to 
the use of fur, then the greatest luxury of dress. In his 
hand he bore that singular abacus, or staff of office, with 
which Templars are usually represented, having at the 
upper end a round plate, on which was engraved the cross 
of the Order, inscribed within a circle, or orle, as heralds 
term it. His companion, who attended on this great per- 
sonage, had nearly the same dress in all respects, but his 
extreme deference towards his Superior showed that no 
other equality subsisted between them. The Preceptor, 

1 Bernard, Abbot of Clairvaux (1091-1153), the distinguished 
French ecclesiastic, who preached the Second Crusade in 1146. He 
drew up a code of rules for the government of the Brethren of the 
Temple. See Addison’s Knights Templars, p. 149. 

2 A coarse cloth of russet color. 

3 A kind of fur, probably that of the squirrel. 


IVANHOE 


399 


for such he was in rank, walked not in a line with the 
Grand Master, hut just so far behind that Beaumanoir 
could speak to him without turning round his head. 

Conrade,” said the Grand Master, “ dear companion of 
my battles and my toils, to thy faithful bosom alone I 
can confide my sorrows. To thee alone can I tell how oft, 
since I came to this kingdom, 1 have desired to be dissolved 
and to be with the just. Not one object in England hath 
met mine eye which it could rest upon with pleasure, save 
the tombs of our brethren, beneath the massive roof of our 
Temple Church 1 in yonder proud capital. ‘ 0 valiant 
Robert de Bos 1 ! ? did I exclaim internally, as I gazed upon 
these good soldiers of the cross, where they lie sculptured 
on their sepulchres, — c 0 worthy William de Mareschal 1 ! 
open your marble cells, and take to your repose a weary 
brother, who would rather strive with a hundred thousand 
pagans than witness the decay of our Holy Order! ? ” 

“ It is but true,” answered Conrade Mont-Fitchet; “ it is 
but too true; and the irregularities of our brethren in Eng- 
land are even more gross than those in France.” 

“ Because they are more wealthy,” answered the Grand 
Master. “ Bear with me, brother, although I should some- 
thing vaunt myself. Thou knowest the life I have led, 
keeping each point of my Order, striving with devils em- 
bodied and disembodied, striking down the roaring lion, 
who goeth about seeking whom he may devour, like a good 
knight and devout priest, wheresoever I met with him — 
even as blessed Saint Bernard hath prescribed to us in the 
forty-fifth capital 2 of our rule, Ut Leo semper feriatur * 
But by the Holy Temple! the zeal which hath devoured my 
substance and my life, yea, the very nerves and marrow of 

* In the ordinances of the Knights of the Temple this phrase is 
repeated in a variety of forms, and occurs in almost every chapter, as 
if it were the signal-word of the Order ; which may account for its 
being so frequently put in the Grand Master’s mouth. [Scott.] The 
phrase means “ That the lion [Satan] may always be smitten down.” 
1 Peter v. 8. 

1 The Temple Church, situated within the bounds of the Inner Tem- 
ple, the ancient lodgings of the Knights Templars in London, was 
completed in 1185, though a choir was added in 1240. In the Round 
Church, or older portion, are recumbent figures of leading Templars, 
among them that of William de Mareschal, Earl of Pembroke (d. 
1219), and Robert de Ros (d. 1227). 

2 Chapter. 


400 


IVANHOE 


my bones; by that very Holy Temple I swear to thee that, 
save thyself and some few that still retain the ancient 
severity of our Order, I look upon no brethren whom I can 
bring my soul to embrace under that holy name. What 
say our statutes, and how do our brethren observe them? 
They should wear no vain or worldly ornament, no crest 
upon their helmet, no gold upon stirrup or bridle-bit; yet 
who now go pranked out so proudly and so gaily as the 
poor soldiers of the Temple? They are forbidden by our 
statutes to take one bird by means of another, to shoot 
beasts with bow or arblast , 1 to halloo to a hunting-horn, 
or to spur the horse after game. But now, at hunting and 
hawking, and each idle sport of wood and river, who so 
prompt as the Templars in all these fond vanities? They 
are forbidden to read, save what their Superior permitted, 
or listen to what is read, save such holy things as may be 
recited aloud during the hours of refection; but lo! their 
ears are at the command of idle minstrels, and their eyes 
study empty romaunts . 2 They were commanded to ex- 
tirpate magic and heresy. Lo! they are charged with 
studying the accursed cabalistical secrets of the Jews, and 
the magic of the Paynim Saracens. Simpleness of diet was 
prescribed to them, roots, pottage, gruels, eating flesh but 
thrice a week, because the accustomed feeding on flesh is 
a dishonourable corruption of the body; and behold, their 
tables groan under delicate fare! Their drink was to be 
water, and now, to drink like a Templar is the boast of 
each jolly boon companion! This very garden, filled as 
it is with curious herbs and trees sent from the Eastern 
climes, better becomes the harem of an unbelieving Emir 3 
than the plot which Christian Monks should devote to raise 
their homely pot-herbs. — And oh, Conrade! well it were 
that the relaxation of discipline stopped even here! — Well 
thou knowest that we were forbidden to receive those de- 
vout women, who at the beginning were associated as sisters 
of our Order, because, saith the forty-sixth chapter, the 
Ancient Enemy hath, by female society, withdrawn many 
from the right path to paradise. Nay, in the last capital, 
being, as it were, the cope-stone which our blessed founder 

1 Cross-bow. 

2 Eomances. 

3 A Mohammedan chieftain. 


IV AN II OE 


401 


placed on the pure and undeflled doctrine which he had 
enjoined, we are prohibited from offering, even to our 
sisters and our mothers, the kiss of affection — ut omnium 
mulierum fugiantur oscula. 1 — I shame to speak — I shame 
to think — of the corruptions which have rushed in upon us 
even like a flood. The souls of our pure founders, the 
spirits of Hugh de Paven 2 and Godfrey de Saint Omer , 2 
and of the blessed Seven who first joined in dedicating 
their lives to the service of the Temple, are disturbed even 
in the enjoyment of paradise itself. I have seen them, 
Conrade, in the visions of the night — their sainted eyes 
shed tears for the sins and follies of their brethren, and for 
the foul and shameful luxury in which they wallow. ‘ Beau- 
manoir/ they say, c thou slumberest — awake! There is a 
stain in the fabric of the Temple, deep and foul as that left 
by the streaks of leprosy on the walls of the infected houses 
of old.* The soldiers of the Cross, who should shun the 
glance of a woman as the eye of a basilisk, live in open 
sin, not with the females of their own race only, but with 
the daughters of the accursed heathen, and more accursed 
Jew. Beaumanoir, thou steepest; up, and avenge our 
cause! — Slay the sinners, male and female! — Take to thee 
the brand of Phineas 3 ! ? — The vision fled, Conrade, but as 
I awaked I could still hear the clank of their mail, and see 
the waving of their white mantles. — And I will do accord- 
ing to their word; I will purify the fabric of the Temple! 
And the unclean stones in which the plague is, I will re- 
move and cast out of the building.” 

“ Amt bethink thee, reverend father,” said Mont-Fitchet, 
“ the stain hath become engrained by time and consue- 
tude 4 ; let thy reformation be cautious, as it is just and 
wise.” 

“Ho, Mont-Fitchet,” answered the stern old man — “it 
must be sharp and sudden — the Order is on the crisis of its 
fate. The sobriety, self-devotion, and piety of our prede- 
cessors made us powerful friends — our presumption, our 

* See the 13th chapter of Leviticus. [Scott.] 

1 “ That the kisses of all women are to be shunned.” 

2 These two knights, with seven others, were the founders of the 
Order of the Templars at Jerusalem in 1118. 

3 The sword of Phineas. Numbers xxv. 

4 Custom. 

26 


402 


IVANIIOE 


wealth, our luxury, have raised up against us mighty ene- 
mies. — We must cast away these riches, which are a tempta- 
tion to princes — we must lay dowm that presumption, which 
is an offence to them — we must reform that license of man- 
ners, which is a scandal to the whole Christian world! Or — 
mark my words — the Order of the Temple will he utterly 
demolished, and the place thereof shall no more be known 
among the nations.” 

“ Now may God avert such a calamity! ” said the Pre- 
ceptor. 

“ Amen,” said the Grand Master, with solemnity, “ but 
we must deserve his aid. I tell thee, Conrade, that neither 
the powers in Heaven, nor the powers on earth, will longer 
endure the wickedness of this generation. My intelligence 
is sure — the ground on which our fabric is reared is already 
undermined, and each addition we make to the structure 
of our grealness will only sink it the sooner in the abyss. 
We must retrace our steps, and show ourselves the faithful 
Champions of the Cross, sacrificing to our calling, not 
alone our blood and our lives — not alone our lusts and our 
vices — but our ease, our comforts, and our natural affec- 
tions, and act as men convinced that many a pleasure which 
may be lawful to others is forbidden to the vowed soldier 
of the Temple.” 

At this moment a squire, clothed in a threadbare vest- 
ment, (for the aspirants after this holy Order wore during 
their noviciate the cast-off garments of the knights,) en- 
tered the garden, and, bowing profoundly before the Grand 
Master, stood silent, awaiting his permission ere he pre- 
sumed to tell his errand. 

“ Is it not more seemly,” said the Grand Master, “ to 
see this Damian, clothed in the garments of Christian 
humility, thus appear with reverend silence before his 
Superior, than but two days since, when the fond fool was 
decked in a painted coat, and jangling as pert and as 
proud as any popinjay? — Speak, Damian, we permit thee. 
What is thine errand? ” 

“A Jew stands without the gate, noble and reverend 
father,” said the squire, “ who prays to speak with brother 
Brian de Bois-Guilbert.” 

“ Thou wert right to give me knowledge of it,” said the 
Grand Master; “ in our presence a Preceptor is but as a 


IV AN HOE 


403 


common corrqieer of our Order, who may not walk accord- 
ing to his own will, but to that of his Master — even ac- 
cording to the text, e In the hearing of the ear he hath 
obeyed me/ 1 — It imports us especially to know of this 
Bois-Guilbert’s proceedings,” said he, turning to his com- 
panion. 

“ Report speaks him brave and valiant,” said Conrade. 

“ And truly is he so spoken of,” said the Grand Master; 
ci in our valour only we are not degenerated from our 
predecessors, the heroes of the Cross. But brother Brian 
came into our Order a moody and disappointed man, 
stirred, I doubt me, to take our vows and to renounce the 
world, not in sincerity of soul, hut as one whom some touch 
of light discontent had driven into penitence. Since then, 
he hath become an active and earnest agitator, a murmurer, 
and a machinator, and a leader amongst those who impugn 
our authority; not considering that the rule is given to the 
Master even by the symbol of the staff and the rod — the 
staff to support the infirmities of the weak — the rod to 
correct the faults of delinquents. — Damian,” he continued, 
“ lead the Jew to our presence.” 

The squire departed with a profound reverence, and in a 
few minutes returned, marshalling in Isaac of York. Yo 
naked slave, ushered into the presence of some mighty 
prince, could approach his judgment-seat with more pro- 
found reverence and terror than that with which the Jew 
drew near to the presence of the Grand Master. When 
he had approached within the distance of three yards, 
Beaumanoir made a sign with his staff that he should come 
no farther. The Jew kneeled down on the earth, which 
he kissed in token of reverence; then rising, stood before 
the Templars, his hands folded on his bosom, his head 
bowed on his breast, in all the submission of Oriental 
slavery. 

“ Damian,” said the Grand Master, “ retire, and have a 
guard ready to await our sudden call; and suffer no one to 
enter the garden until we shall leave it.” — The squire 
bowed and retreated. — "Jew,” continued the haughty old 
man, “ mark me. It suits not our condition to hold with 
thee long communication, nor do we waste words or time 
upon any one. Wherefore he brief in thy answers to 

1 Psalms xviii. 44. 


404 


IVANIIOE 


what questions I shall ask thee, and let thy words be of 
truth; for if thy tongue doubles with me, I will have it torn 
from thy misbelieving jaws.” 

The Jew was about to reply, but the Grand Master went 
on. 

“ Peace, unbeliever! — not a word in our presence, save 
in answer to our questions. — What is thy business with our 
brother Brian de Bois-Guilbert? ” 

Isaac gasped with terror and uncertainty. To tell his 
tale might be interpreted into scandalizing the Order; yet, 
unless he told it, what hope could he have of achieving 
liis daughter’s deliverance? Beaumanoir saw his mortal 
apprehension, and condescended to give him some assur- 
ance. 

“ Fear nothing,” he said, “ for thy wretched person, Jew, 
so thou dealest uprightly in this matter. I demand again 
to know from thee thy business with Brian de Bois- 
Guilbert ? 99 

“ 1 am bearer of a letter,” stammered out the Jew, “ so 
please your reverend valour, to that good knight, from 
Prior Aymer of the Abbey of Jorvaulx.” 

“ Said I not these were evil times, Conrade?” said the 
Master. “ A Cistercian Prior sends a letter to a soldier of 
the Temple, and can find no more fitting messenger than 
an unbelieving Jew. — Give me the letter.” 

The Jew, with trembling hands, undid the folds of his 
Armenian cap, in which he had deposited the Prior’s tab- 
lets for the greater security, and was about to approach, 
with hand extended and body crouched, to place it within 
the reach of his grim interrogator. 

“ Back, dog ! 99 said the Grand Master; “ I touch not mis- 
believers, save with the sword. — Conrade, take thou the 
letter from the Jew, and give it to me.” 

Beaumanoir, being thus possessed of the tablets, in- 
spected the outside carefully, and then proceeded to undo 
the packthread which secured its folds. “ Reverend 
father,” said Conrade, interposing, though with much 
deference, “ wilt thou break the seal? ” 

“ And will I not? ” said Beaumanoir, with a frown. “ Is 
it not written in the forty-second capital, De Lectione 
Liter arum ,* that a Templar shall not receive a letter, no, 
1 “Concerning the reading of letters.” 


IV AN 1I0E 


405 


not from ms father, without communicating the same to 
the Grand Master, and reading it in his presence? ” 

He then perused the letter in haste, with an expression 
of surprise and horror; read it over again more slowly; then 
holding it out to Conrade with one hand, and slightly 
striking it with the other, exclaimed — “ Here is goodly stuff 
for one Christian man to write to another, and both mem- 
bers, and no inconsiderable members, of religious profes- 
sions! When,” said he solemnly, and looking upward, 
“ wilt thou come with thy fanners to purge the thrashing- 
floor 1 ? ” 


Mont-Fitchet took the letter from his Superior, and was 
about to peruse it. “ Read it aloud, Conrade,” said the 
Grand Master , — “ and do thou ” (to Isaac) “ attend to the 
purport of it, for we will question thee concerning it.” 

Conrade read the letter, which was in these words: 
“ Aymer, by divine grace, Prior of the Cistercian house 
of Saint Mary’s of Jorvaulx, to Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert, 
a Knight of the holy Order of the Temple, wisheth health, 
with the bounties of King Bacchus and of my Lady Venus. 
Touching our present condition, dear Brother, we are a 
captive in the hands of certain lawless and godless men, 
who have not feared to detain our person, and put us to 
ransom; whereby we have also learned of Front-de-Boeuf’s 
misfortune, and that thou hast escaped with that fair 
Jewish sorceress, whose black eyes have bewitched thee. 
We are heartily rejoiced of thy safety; nevertheless, we 
pra}^ thee to be on thy guard in the matter of this second 
Witch of Endor; for we are privately assured that your 
Great Master, who careth not a bean for cherry cheeks and 
black eyes, comes from Normandy to diminish your mirth, 
and amend your misdoings. Wherefore we pray you 
heartily to beware, and to be found watching, even as the 
Holy Text hath it, Invenientur vigilantes . 2 And the 
wealthy Jew her father, Isaac of York, having prayed of 
me letters in his behalf, I gave him these, earnestly advis- 
ing, and in a sort entreating, that you do hold the damsel to 
ransom, seeing he will pay you from his bags as much as 
may find fifty damsels upon safer terms, whereof I trust to 
have my part when we make merry together, as true 


1 Luke iii. 17. 

2 Matthew xxv. 13. 


406 


IV AN IIO E 


brothers, not forgetting the wine-cup. For what saith the 
text, Vinum Icetificat cor hominis 1 ; and again, Bex delec- 
tabitur : pulchritudine tua A 

“ Till which merry meeting, we wish you farewell. 
Given from this den of thieves, about the hour of matins, 

“Aymer Pr. S. M. Jorvolciencis . 3 

“ Postscriptum. Truly your golden chain hath not long 
abidden with me, and will now sustain, around the neck 
of an outlaw deer-stealer, the whistle wherewith he calleth 
on his hounds/’ 

V What sayest thou to this, Conrade?” said the Grand 
Master. “ Den of thieves! and a fit residence is a den of 
thieves for such a Prior. No wonder that the hand of 
God is upon us, and that in the Holy Land we lose place 
by place, foot by foot, before the infidels, when we have 
such churchmen as this Aymer. — And what meaneth he, 
I trow, by this second Witch of Endor? ” said he to his 
confidant, something apart. 

Conrade was better acquainted (perhaps by practice) 
with the jargon of gallantry than was his Superior; and 
he expounded the passage which embarrassed the Grand 
Master, to be a sort of language used by worldly men 
towards those whom they loved par amours; but the ex- 
planation did not satisfy the bigoted Beaumanoir. 

“ There is more in it than thou dost guess, Conrade; 
thy simplicity is no match for this deep abyss of wickedness. 
This Rebecca of York was a pupil of that Miriam of whom 
thou hast heard. Thou shalt hear the Jew own it even 
now.” Then turning to Isaac, he said aloud, “ Thy daugh- 
ter, then, is prisoner with Brian de Bois-Guilbert? ” 

“ Ay, reverend valorous sir,” stammered poor Isaac, 
“ and whatsoever ransom a poor man may pay for "her 
del iverance ” 

“ Peace! ” said the Grand Master. “ This thy daughter 
hath practised the art of healing, hath she not ? ” 

“ Ay, gracious sir,” answered the Jew, with more con- 

1 “ Wine maketh glad the heart of man.” Psalms civ. 15. 

2 “ The king shall desire thv beauty.” Psalms xlv. 11. 

3 “ Aymer, Prior of the Holy Monastery of Jorvaulx.” 


IV AN HOE 


40 ? 


fidence; “ and knight and yeoman, squire and vassal, may 
bless the goodly gift which Heaven hath assigned to her. 
Many a one can testify that she hath recovered them by 
her art, when every other human aid hath proved vain; 
hut the blessing of the God of Jacob was upon her.” 

Beaumanoir turned to Mont-Fitc'het with a grim smile. 
“ See, brother,” he said, “ the deceptions of the devouring 
Enemy! Behold the baits with which he fishes for souls, 
giving a poor space of earthly life in exchange for eternal 
happiness hereafter. Well said our blessed rule, Semper 
percutiatur leo vorans . 1 — Upon the lion! Down with the 
destroyer! ” said he, shaking aloft his mystic abacus, as if in 
defiance of the powers of darkness. — “ Thy daughter work- 
eth the cures, I doubt not,” thus he went on to address 
the Jew, “ by words and sigils , 2 and periapts , 3 and other 
cabalistical mysteries.” 

“ Hay, reverend and brave Knight,” answered Isaac, 
“ hut in chief measure by a balsam of marvellous virtue.” 

“ Where had she that secret?” said Beaumanoir. 

“ It was delivered to her,” answered Isaac, reluctantly, 
“ by Miriam, a sage matron of our tribe.” 

“ Ah, false Jew!” said the Grand Master; “ was it not 
from that same witch Miriam, the abomination of whose 
enchantments have been heard of throughout every Chris- 
tian land? ” exclaimed the Grand Master, crossing himself. 
“ Her body was burnt at a stake, and her ashes were scat- 
tered to the four winds; and so he it with me and mine 
Order, if I do not as much to her pupil, and more also! 
I will teach her to throw spell and incantation over the 
soldiers of the blessed Temple. — There, Damian, spurn this 
Jew from the gate — shoot him dead if he oppose or turn 
again. With his daughter we will deal as the Christian 
law and our own high office warrant.” 

Poor Isaac was hurried off accordingly, and expelled 
from the Preceptory; all his entreaties, and even his offers, 
unheard and disregarded. Fie could do no better than 
return to the house of the Rabbi, and endeavour, through 
his means, to learn how his daughter was to he disposed 
of. He had hitherto feared for her honour, he was now 

1 “ The ravening lion is ever to be beaten down.” 

2 Seals. 

3 Charms. 


408 


1VANEOB 


to tremble for her life. Meanwhile, the Grand Master 
ordered to his presence the Preceptor of Templestowe. 

«* 

[This is the first of a group of chapters, the scene of which is laid 
at Templestowe. What are some of the obvious advantages of a change 
of scene, in a story of romantic adventure ? Observe how the reader’s 
attention, in this closing period of the story, is more and more 
directed upon Rebecca. In the delineation of the Grand Master, 
notice how natural it is for Scott to make his ecclesiastics either 
worldlings or fanatics. The same thing is to be observed in Peveril 
of the Peak, Woodstock, Old Mortality, and elsewhere.] 


CHAPTER XXXYI 


Say not my art is fraud — all live by seeming. 

The beggar begs with it, and the gay courtier 
Gains land and title, rank and rule, by seeming : 

The clergy scorn it not, and the bold soldier 
Will eke with it his service. — All admit it, 

All practise it ; and he who is content 

With showing what he is, shall have small credit 

In church, or camp, or state. So wags the world. 

Old Play. 

Albert Malvoisik, President, or, in the language of 
the Order, Preceptor of the establishment of Templestowe, 
was brother to that Philip Malvoisin who has been already 
occasionally mentioned in this history, and was, like that 
baron, in close league with Brian de Bois-Guilbert. 

Amongst dissolute and unprincipled men, of whom the 
Temple Order included but too many, Albert of Temple- 
stowe might he distinguished; but with this difference from 
the audacious Bois-Guilbert, that he knew how to throw 
over his vices and his ambition the veil of hypocrisy, and 
to assume in his exterior the fanaticism which he internally 
despised. Had not the arrival of the Grand Master been 
so unexpectedly sudden, he would have seen nothing at 
Templestowe which might have appeared to argue any 
relaxation of discipline. And, even although surprised, 
and to a certain extent detected, Albert Malvoisin listened 
with such respect and apparent contrition to the rebuke of 
his Superior, and made such haste to reform the particu- 
lars he censured, — succeeded, in fine, so well in giving an 
air of ascetic devotion to a family which had been lately 
devoted to license and pleasure, that Lucas Beaumanoir 
began to entertain a higher opinion of the Preceptor’s 
morals than the first appearance of the establishment had 
inclined him to adopt. 

But these favourable sentiments on the part of the Grand 
Master were greatly shaken by the intelligence that Albert 


410 


IV AN HOE 


had received within a house of religion the Jewish captive, 
and, as was to be feared, the paramour of a brother of the 
Order; and when Albert appeared before him, he was re- 
garded with unwonted sternness. 

“ There is in this mansion, dedicated to the purposes of 
the holy Order of the Temple,” said the Grand Master, in 
a severe tone, “ a J ewish woman, brought hither by a 
brother of religion, by your connivance, Sir Preceptor.” 

Albert Malvoisin was overwhelmed with confusion; for 
the unfortunate Rebecca had been confined in a remote and 
secret part of the building, and every precaution used to 
prevent her residence there from being known. He read 
in the looks of Beaumanoir ruin to Bois-Guilbert and to 
himself, unless he should be able to avert the impending 
storm. 

“Why are you mute?” continued the Grand Master. 

“ Is it permitted to me to reply ? ” answered the Pre- 
ceptor, in a tone of the deepest humility, although by the 
question he only meant to gain an instant’s space for 
arranging his ideas. 

“ Speak, you are permitted,” said the Grand Master — 
“ speak, and say, knowest thou the capital of our holy rule, 
De commilitonibus Templi in sanct a civ it ate, qui cum 
miserrimis mulieribus versantur , propter obledationem 
carnis ? ” * 

“ Surely, most reverend father,” answered the Preceptor, 
“ I have not risen to this office in the Order, being ignorant 
of one of its most important prohibitions.” 

“ How comes it, then, I demand of thee once more, that 
thou hast suffered a brother to bring a paramour, and that 
paramour a Jewish sorceress, into this holy place, to the 
stain and pollution thereof? ” 

“A Jewish sorceress! ” echoed Albert Malvoisin; “good 
angels guard us! ” 

“Ay, brother, a Jewish sorceress!” said the Grand 
Master sternly. “ I have said it. Darest thou deny that 
this Rebecca, the daughter of that wretched usurer Isaac 
of York, and the pupil of the foul witch Miriam, is now — 

* The edict which he quotes, is against communion with women of 
light character. [Scott.] “ Concerning the brethren in arms of the 
holy Order of the Temple, who keep company with abandoned women, 
for the gratification of the flesh.” 


IVANHOE 


411 


shame to be thought or spoken! — lodged within this thy 
Preeeptory ? ” 

“ Your wisdom, reverend father,” answered the Pre- 
ceptor, “ hath rolled away the darkness from my under- 
standing. Much did I wonder that so good a knight as 
Brian cle Bois-Guilbert seemed so fondly besotted on the 
charms of this female, whom I received into this horfee 
merely to place a bar betwixt their growing intimacy, which 
else might have been cemented at the expense of the fall of 
our valiant and religious brother.” 

“ Hath nothing, then, as yet passed betwixt them in 
breach of his vow? ” demanded the Grand Master. 

“ What! under this roof? ” said the Preceptor, crossing 
himself; “ Saint Magdalene 1 and the ten thousand virgins 2 
forbid! — Ho! if I have sinned in receiving her here, it was 
in the erring thought that I might thus break off our 
brother’s besotted devotion to this Jewess, which seemed to 
me so wild and unnatural, that I could not but ascribe it to 
some touch of insanity, more to be cured by pity than re- 
proof. But since your reverend wisdom hath discovered 
this Jewish quean 3 to be a sorceress, perchance it may 
account fully for his enamoured folly.” 

“It doth! — it doth! ” said Beaumanoir. “ See, Brother 
Conrade, the peril of yielding to the first devices and blan- 
dishments of Satan! We look upon woman only to gratify 
the lust of the eye, and to take pleasure in what men call 
her beauty; and the Ancient Enemy, the devouring Lion, 
obtains power over us, to complete, by talisman and spell, 
a work which was begun by idleness and folly. It may be 
that our brother Bois-Guilbert does in this matter deserve 
rather pity than severe chastisement; rather the support of 
the staff than the strokes of the rod; and that our admoni- 
tions and prayers may turn him from his folly, and restore 
him to his brethren.” 

1 A woman from whom seven devils were east out by Jesus. She 
has commonly been confused with the “woman who was a sinner,” 

mentioned in Luke vii. 37-50. During the middle ages she was can- 
onized by the popular imagination, particularly in France. 

3 According to tradition, the ten thousand virgins (eleven thousand 
as sometimes stated) were martyred at Cologne with their leader, St. 
Ursula, upon their return from a pilgrimage to Rome. Their bones 
are preserved at Cologne, in the church of St. Ursula. 

3 A woman of light reputation. 


412 


IVANHOE 


“ It were deep pity,” said Conrade Mont-Eitchet, ee to 
lose to the Order one of its best lances, when the holy 
community most requires the aid of its sons. Three hun- 
dred Saracens hath this Brian de Bois-Guilbert slain with 
his own hand.” 

“ The blood of these accursed dogs,” said the Grand 
Mister, “ shall be a sweet and acceptable offering to the 
saints and angels whom they despise and blaspheme; and 
with their aid will we counteract the spells and charms 
with which our brother is entwined as in a net. He shall 
burst the bands of this Delilah , 1 as Sampson burst the 
two new cords with which the Philistines had bound him, 
and shall slaughter the infidels, even heaps upon heaps. 
But concerning this foul witch, who hath flung her en- 
chantments over a brother of the holy Temple, assuredly 
she shall die the death.” 

“ But the laws of England,” — said the Preceptor, who, 
though delighted that the Grand Master’s resentment, 
thus fortunately averted from himself and Bois-Guilbert, 
had taken another direction, began now to fear he was car- 
rying it too far. 

“ The laws of England,” interrupted Beaumanoir, “ per- 
mit and enjoin each judge to execute justice within his 
own jurisdiction. The most petty baron may arrest, try, 
and condemn a witch found within his own domain. And 
shall that power be denied to the Grand Master of the 
Temple within a preceptory of his Order? — Ho! — we will 
judge and condemn. The witch shall be taken out of the 
land, and the wickedness thereof shall be forgiven. Pre- 
pare the Castle-hall for the trial of the sorceress.” 

Albert Malvoisin bowed and retired, — not to give direc- 
tions for preparing the hall, but to seek out Brian de Bois- 
Guilbert, and communicate to him how matters were likely 
to terminate. It was not long ere he found him, foaming 
with indignation at a repulse he had anew sustained from 
the fair J ewess. “ The unthinking,” he said, “ the un- 
grateful, to scorn him who, amidst blood and flames, would 
have saved her life at the risk of his own! By Heaven, 
Malvoisin! I abode until roof and rafters crackled and 
crashed around me. I was the butt of a hundred arrows; 
thev rattled on mine armour like hailstones against a 

v O 

1 Judges xvi. 4-20. 


IVANHOE 


413 


latticed casement, and the only use I made of my shield 
was for her protection. This did I endure for ‘her; and 
now the self-willed girl upbraids me that I did not leave 
her to perish, and refuses me not only the slightest proof 
of gratitude, hut even the most distant hope that ever she 
will he brought to grant any. The devil, that possessed 
her race with obstinacy, has concentrated its full force in 
her single person! ” 

“ The devil,” said the Precei3tor, “ I think, possessed 
you both. IIow oft have I preached to you caution, if not 
continence? Did I not tell you that there were enough 
willing Christian damsels to be met with, who would think 
it sin to refuse so brave a knight le don d’ amoureux merely 
and you must needs anchor your affection on a wilful, 
obstinate Jewess! By the mass, I think old Lucas Beau- 
manoir guesses right, when he maintains she hath cast a 
spell over you/’ 

“ Lucas Beaumanoir! ” — said Bois-Guilbert reproach- 
fully. “Are these your precautions, Malvoisin? Hast 
thou suffered the dotard to learn that Rebecca is in the 
Preceptor} 7 ? ” 

“How could I help it?” said the Preceptor. “I ne- 
glected nothing that could keep secret your mystery; hut 
it is betrayed, and whether by the devil or no, the devil 
only can tell. But I have turned the matter as I could; 
you are safe if you renounce Rebecca. You are pitied — 
the victim of magical delusion. She is a sorceress, and 
must suffer as such.” 

“ She shall not, by Heaven! ” said Bois-Guilbert. 

“By Heaven, she must and will!” said Malvoisin. 
“ Neither you nor any one else can save her. Lucas Beau- 
manoir hath settled that the death of a Jewess will be a 
sin-offering sufficient to atone for all the amorous indul- 
gences of the Knights Templars; and thou knowest he hath 
both the power and will to execute so reasonable and pious 
a purpose.” 

“ Will future ages believe that such stupid bigotry ever 
existed! ” said Bois-Guilbert, striding up and down the 
apartment. 

“ What they may believe, I know not,” said Malvoisin, 
calmly; “ but I know well, that in this our day, clergy and 

1 “The highest favour of love.” 


414 


IV AN I LOTI 


laymen, take ninety-nine to the hundred, will cry amen to 
the Grand Master’s sentence.” 

“ I have it,” said Bois-Guilbert. “ Albert, thou art my 
friend. Thou must connive at her escape, Malvoisin, and 
I will transport her to some place of greater security and 
secrecy.” 

“ I cannot, if I would,” replied the Preceptor; “ the 
mansion is filled with the attendants of the Grand Master, 
and others who are devoted to him. And, to be frank 
with you, brother, I would not embark with you in this 
matter, even if I could hope to bring my bark to haven. 
I have risked enough already for your sake. I have no 
mind to encounter a sentence of degradation, or even to 
lose my Preceptory, for the sake of a painted piece of 
Jewish flesh and blood. And } r ou, if you will be guided 
by my counsel, will give up this wild-goose chase, and fly 
your hawk at some other game. Think, Bois-Guilbert, — 
thy present rank, thy future honours, all depend on thy 
place in the Order. Shouldst thou adhere perversely to 
thy passion for this Rebecca, thou wilt give Beaumanoir 
the power of expelling thee, and he will not neglect it. 
He is jealous of the truncheon which he holds in his 
trembling gripe, and he knows thou stretchest thy bold 
hand towards it. Doubt not he will ruin thee, if thou 
affordest him a pretext so fair as thy protection of a Jewish 
sorceress. Give him his scope in this matter, for thou 
canst not control him. When the staff is in thine own 
firm grasp, thou mayest caress the daughters of Judah, or 
burn them, as may best suit thine own humour.” 

“ Malvoisin,” said Bois-Guilbert, “ thou art a cold- 
blooded ” 

“ Friend,” said the Preceptor, hastening to fill up the 
blank, in which Bois-Guilbert would probably have placed 
a worse word, — “ a cold-blooded friend I am, and there- 
fore more fit to give thee advice. I tell thee once more, 
that thou canst not save Rebecca. I tell thee once more, 
thou canst but perish with her. Go hie thee to the Grand 
Master — throw thyself at his feet and tell him ” 

“Not at his feet, by Heaven! but to the dotard’s very 
beard will I say ” 

“ Say to him, then, to his beard,” continued Malvoisin 
coolly, “ that you love this captive Jewess to distraction; 


IVANHOE 


415 


and the more thou dost enlarge on thy passion, the greater 
will be his haste to end it by the death of the fair enchant- 
ress; while thou, taken in flagrant delict 1 by the avowal 
of a crime contrary to thine oath, canst hope no aid of thy 
brethren, and must exchange all thy brilliant visions of 
ambition and power, to lift perhaps a mercenary spear 
in some of the petty quarrels between Flanders and 
Burgundy.” 

“ Thou speakest the truth, Malvoisin,” said Brian de 
Bois-Guilbert, after a moment’s reflection. “ I will give 
the hoary bigot no advantage over me; and for Rebecca, 
she hath not merited at my hand that I should expose rank 
and honour for her sake. I will cast her off — yes, I will 
leave her to her fate, unless ■” 

“ Qualify not thy wise and necessary resolution,” said 
Malvoisin; “ women are but the toys which amuse our 
lighter hours — ambition is the serious business of life. 
Perish a thousand such frail baubles as this Jewess, before 
thy manly step pause in the brilliant career that lies 
stretched before thee! For the present we part, nor must 
we be seen to hold close conversation — I must order the 
hall for his judgment-seat.” 

“ What! ” said Bois-Guilbert, “ so soon? ” 

“ Ay,” replied the Preceptor, “ trial moves rapidly on 
when the judge has determined the sentence beforehand.” 

“ Rebecca,” said Bois-Guilbert, when he was left alone, 
“ thou art like to cost me dear. Why cannot I abandon 
thee to thy fate, as this calm hypocrite recommends? — 
One effort will I make to save thee — but beware of ingrati- 
tude! for if I am again repulsed, my vengeance shall equal 
my love. The life and honour of Bois-Guilbert must not 
be hazarded, where contempt and reproaches are his only 
reward.” 

The Preceptor had hardly given the necessary orders, 
when he was joined by Conrade Mont-Fitchet, who ac- 
quainted him with the Grand Master’s resolution to bring 
the Jewess to instant trial for sorcery. 

“ It is surely a dream,” said the Preceptor; “ we have 
many Jewish physicians, and we call them not wizards 
though they work wonderful cures.” 

“ The Grand Master thinks otherwise,” said Mont- 
1 In flagrante delicto ; in open crime, in the act. 


41 G 


IVAN HOE 


Fitchet; “ and, Albert, I will be upright with thee — 
wizard or not, it were better that this miserable damsel 
die than that Brian de Bois-Guilbert should be lost to the 
Order, or the Order divided by internal dissension. Thou 
knowest his high rank, his fame in arms — thou knowest 
the zeal with which many of our brethren regard him; but 
all this will not avail him with our Grand Master, should 
he consider Brian as the accomplice, not the. victim, of this 
Jewess. Were the souls of the twelve tribes in her single 
body, it were better she suffered alone than that Bois- 
Guilbert were partner in her destruction.” 

“ I have been working him even now to abandon her,” 
said Malvoisin; “ but still,- are there grounds enough to 
condemn this Rebecca for sorcery? — Will not the Grand 
Master change his mind when he sees that the proofs are 
so weak ? ” 

“ They must be strengthened, Albert,” replied Mont- 
Fitchet; “ they must be strengthened. Dost thou under- 
stand me ? ” 

“ I do,” said the Preceptor, “ nor do I scruple to do 
aught for advancement of the Order — -but there is little 
time to find engines fitting.” 

“ Malvoisin, they must be found,” said Conrade; “ well 
will it advantage both the Order and thee. This Temple- 
stowe is a poor Preceptory — that of Maison-Dieu 1 is worth 
double its value — thou knowest my interest with our old 
Chief — find those who can carry this matter through, and 
thou art Preceptor of Maison-Dieu in the fertile Kent. 2 — 
How sayst thou? ” 

“ There is,” replied Malvoisin,' “ among those who came 
hither with Bois-Guilbert, two fellows whom I well know; 
servants they were to my brother Philip de Malvoisin, and 
passed from his service to that of Front-de-Boeuf — it may 
be they know something of the witcheries of this woman.” 

“ Away, seek them out instantly — and hark thee, if a 
byzant or two will sharpen their memory, let them not be 
wanting.” 

“ They would swear the mother that bore them a sorce- 
ress for a zecchin,” said the Preceptor. 

“ Away, then,” said Mont-Fitchet; “at noon the affair 

1 “ God’s house.” 

2 A county in southeastern England. 


IVANHOE 


417 


will proceed. I have not seen our senior in such earnest 
preparation since he condemned to the stake Hamet Alfagi, 
a convert who relapsed to the Moslem faith.” 

The ponderous castle-hell had tolled the point of noon, 
when Rebecca heard a trampling of feet upon the private 
stair which led to her place of confinement. The noise 
announced the arrival of several persons, and the circum- 
stance rather gave her joy; for she was more afraid of the 
solitary visits of the fierce and passionate Bois-Guilbert 
than of any evil that could befall her besides. The door 
of the chamber was unlocked, and Conrade and the Pre- 
ceptor Malvoisin entered, attended by four warders clothed 
in black, and bearing halberds. 

“ Daughter of an accursed race! ” said the Preceptor, 
“ arise and follow us.” 

“ Whither,” said Rebecca, “and for what purpose? ” 

“ Damsel,” answered Conrade, “ it is not for thee to 
question, but to obey. Nevertheless, be it known to thee, 
that thou art to be brought before the tribunal of the 
Grand Master of our holy Order, there to answer for thine 
offences.” 

“May the God of Abraham be praised!” said Rebecca, 
folding her hands devoutly; “ the name of a judge, though 
an enemy to my people, is to me as the name of a pro- 
tector. Most willingly do I follow thee — permit me only 
to wrap my veil around my head.” 

They descended the stair with slow and solemn step, 
traversed a long gallery, and, by a pair of folding doors 
placed at the end, entered the great hall in which the 
Grand Master had for the time established his court of 
justice. 

The lower part of this ample apartment was filled with 
squires and yeomen, who made way not without some diffi- 
culty for Rebecca, attended by the Preceptor and Mont- 
Fitchet, and followed by the guard of halberdiers, to move 
forward to the seat appointed for her. As she passed 
through the crowd, her arms folded and her head de- 
pressed, a scrap of paper was thrust into her hand, which 
she received almost unconsciously, and continued to hold 
without examining its contents. The assurance that she 
possessed some friend in this awful assembly gave her 
courage to look around, and to mark into whose presence 
27 


418 


1VANII0E 


she had been conducted. She gazed, accordingly, upon the 
scene which we shall endeavour to describe in the next 
chapter. 

[In this finely dramatic situation, note the precision of the char- 
acter-drawing. The “scrap of paper” mentioned in the closing 
paragraph is one of the link-devices used to hold this group of chap- 
ters together. Do you find Scott superior or inferior to other novel- 
ists of high rank in the art of calculating his effects, and giving the 
reader hints of them, a long time in advance ? Does what you 
know of Scott’s method of composition throw any light upon this 
question ? ] 


CHAPTER XXXVII 


Stern was the law which bade its vot’ries leave 
At human woes with human hearts to grieve ; 

Stern was the law, which at the winning wile 
Of frank and harmless mirth forbade to smile ; 

But sterner still, when high the iron rod 

Of tyrant power she shook, and call’d that power of God. 

The Middle Ages. 

The Tribunal erected for the trial of the innocent and 
unhappy Rebecca occupied the dais or elevated part of the 
upper end of the great hall — a platform which we have 
already described as the place of honour destined to be 
occupied by the most distinguished inhabitants or guests 
of an ancient mansion. 

On an elevated seat, directly before the accused, sat the 
Grand Master of the Temple, in full and ample robes of 
flowing white, holding in his hand the mystic staff which 
bore the symbol of the Order. At his feet was placed a 
table, occupied by two scribes, chaplains of the Order, 
whose duty it was to reduce to formal record the proceed- 
ings of the day. The black dresses, bare scalps, and de- 
mure looks of these churchmen formed a strong contrast 
to the warlike appearance of the knights who attended, 
either as residing in the Preceptory, or as come thither to 
attend upon their Grand Master. The Preceptors, of 
whom there were four present, occupied seats lower in 
height, and somewhat drawn back behind that of their 
superior; and the knights who enjoyed no such rank in 
the Order were placed on benches still lower, and pre- 
serving the same distance from the Preceptors as these 
from the Grand Master. Behind them, but still upon the 
dais or elevated portion of the hall, stood the esquires of 
the Order, in white dresses of an inferior quality. 

The whole assembly wore an aspect of the most pro- 
found gravity; and in the faces of the knights might be 
perceived traces of military daring, united with the solemn 


420 


IV AN HOE 


carriage becoming men of a religious profession, and 
which, in the presence of their Grand Master, failed not 
to sit upon every brow. 

The remaining and lower part of the hall was filled with 
guards, holding partisans, and with other attendants whom 
curiosity had drawn thither, to see at once a Grand Master 
and a Jewish sorceress. By far the greater part of those 
inferior persons were, in one rank or other, connected 
with the Order, and were accordingly distinguished by 
their black dresses. But peasants from the neighbouring 
country were not refused admittance; for it was the pride 
of Beaumanoir to render the edifying spectacle of the jus- 
tice which he administered as public as possible. His 
large blue eyes seemed to expand as he gazed around the 
assembly, and his countenance appeared elated by the con- 
scious dignity, and imaginary merit, of the part which he 
wms about to perform. A psalm, which he himself accom- 
panied with a deep, mellow voice, which age had not de- 
prived of its powers, commenced the proceedings of the 
day; and the solemn sounds, Venite, exultemus Domino / 
so often sung by the Templars before engaging with 
earthly adversaries, was judged by Lucas most appropriate 
to introduce the approaching triumph, for such he deemed 
it, over the powers of darkness. The deep, prolonged 
notes, raised by a hundred masculine voices accustomed 
to combine in the choral chant, arose to the vaulted roof 
of the hall, and rolled on amongst its arches with the 
pleasing yet solemn sound of the rushing of mighty waters. 

When the sounds ceased, the Grand Master glanced his 
eye slowly around the circle, and observed that the seat 
of one of the Preceptors was vacant. Brian de Bois- 
Guilbert, by whom it had been occupied, had left his 
place, and was now standing near the extreme corner of 
one of the benches occupied by the Ivnights Companions 
of the Temple, one hand extending his long mantle, so as 
in some degree to hide his face; while the other held his 
cross-handled sword, with the point of which, sheathed as 
it was, he was slowly drawing lines upon the oaken floor. 

“ Unhappy man! ” said the Grand Master, after favour- 
ing him with a glance of compassion. “ Thou seest, Con- 
rade, how this holy work distresses him. To this can the 
1 “ 0 come, let us sing unto the Lord.” Psalms xcv. 1. 


IVANTTOE 


421 


light look of woman, aided by the Prince of the Powers 1 
of this world, bring a valiant and worthy knight! — Seest 
thou, he cannot look upon us; he .cannot look upon her; 
and who knows by what impulse from his tormentor his 
hand forms these cabalistic lines upon the floor? — It may 
be our life and safety are thus aimed at; but we spit at 
and defy the foul enemy. Semper Leo percutiatur ! ” 

This Avas communicated apart to his confidential fol- 
lower, Conrade Mont-Fitchet. The Grand Master then 
raised his voice, and addressed the assembly. 

“ Peverend and valiant men, Knights, Preceptors, and 
Companions of this Holy Order, my brethren and my chil- 
dren! — you also, well-born and pious Esquires, who aspire 
to wear this holy Cross! — and you also, Christian brethren, 
of every degree! — Be it known to you, that it is not defect 
of power in us Avhich hath occasioned the assembling of 
this congregation; for, however unworthy in our person, 
yet to us is committed, with this batoon, full power to 
judge and to try all that regards the Aveal of this our Holy 
Order. Holy Saint Bernard, in the rule of our knightly 
and religious profession, hath said, in the fifty-ninth capi- 
tal,* that he would not that brethren be called together 
in council, save at the will and command of the Master; 
leaving it free to us, as to those more worthy fathers who 
have preceded us in this our office, to judge, as Avell of the 
occasion as of the time and place in Avhich a chapter of 
the whole Order, or of any part thereof, may be convoked. 
Also, in all such chapters, it is our duty to hear the advice 
of our brethren, and to proceed according to our oaaui 
pleasure. But Avhen the raging Avolf hath made an inroad 
upon the flock, and carried off one member thereof, it is 
the duty of the kind shepherd to call his comrades to- 
gether, that with boAvs and slings they may quell the in- 
vader, according to our Avell-known rule, that the lion is 
ever to be beaten down. We have therefore summoned to 
our presence a JeAvish Avoman, by name Rebecca, daughter 
of Isaac of York — a woman infamous for sortileges 2 and 

* The reader is again referred to the Rules of the Poor Military 
Brotherhood of the Temple, which occur in the Works of St. Ber- 
nard. — L. T. [Scott.] 

1 Ephesians ii. 2. 

2 The art of prophesying the future by drawing lots ; magic. 


422 


I VANIIO E 


for witcheries; whereby she hath maddened the blood, and 
besotted the brain, not of a churl, but of a Knight — not of 
a secular Knight, but of one devoted to the service of the 
Holy Temple — not of a Knight Companion, but of a Pre- 
ceptor of our Order, first in honour as in place. Our 
brother, Brian de Bois-Guilbert, is well known to our- 
selves, and to all degrees who now hear me, as a true and 
zealous champion of the Cross, by whose arm many deeds 
of valour have been wrought in the Holy Land, and the 
holy places purified from pollution by the blood of those 
infidels who defiled them. Neither have our brother’s 
sagacity and prudence been less in repute among his 
brethren than his valour and discipline; in so much, that 
knights, both in eastern and western lands, have named 
De Bois-Guilbert as one who may well be put in nomina- 
tion as successor to this batoon, when it shall please 
Heaven to release us from the toil of bearing it. If we 
were told that such a man, so honoured, and so honour- 
able, suddenly casting away regard for his character, his 
vows, his brethren, and his prospects, had associated to 
himself a Jewish damsel, wandered in this lewd company 
through solitary places, defended her person in preference 
to his own, and, finally, was so utterly blinded and besotted 
by his folly as to bring her even to one of our own Pre- 
ceptories, what should we say but that the noble knight 
was possessed by some evil demon, or influenced by some 
wicked spell ? — If we could suppose it otherwise, think not 
rank, valour, high repute, or any earthly consideration, 
should prevent us from visiting him with punishment, 
that the evil thing might be removed, even according to 
the text, Auferte malum ex vobis. 1 For various and hei- 
nous are the acts of transgression against the rule of our 
blessed Order in this lamentable history. — 1st, He hath 
walked according to his proper will, contrary to capital 33, 
Quod nullus juxta propriam voluntatem incedat . 2 — 2d, He 
hath held communication with an excommunicated person, 
capital 57, Ut fralrcs non participent cum excommuni- 
catis, 3 and therefore hath a portion in Anathema Mara- 

1 “ Remove the evil from you.” Deuteronomy xiii. 5. 

2 “ That no one shall walk according to his own will.” 

3 “ That the brethren shall have nought to do with excommuni- 
cated persons.” 


IVANIIOE 


423 


natha. 1 — 3d, He hath conversed with strange women, con- 
trary to the capital, Ut fratres non conversantur cum 
cxtraneis mulieribus . 2 — 4th, He hath not avoided, nay, he 
hath, it is to be feared, solicited the kiss of woman; by 
which, saith the last rule of our renowned Order, Ut 
fugiantur oscula, the soldiers of the Cross are brought 
into a snare. For which heinous and multiplied guilt, 
Brian de Bois-Guilbert should be cut off and cast out from 
our congregation, were he the right hand and right eye 
thereof.” 

He paused. A low murmur went through the assembly. 
Some of the younger part, who had been inclined to smile 
at the statute De osculis fugiendis 3 became now grave 
enough, and anxiously waited what the Grand Master was 
next to propose. 

“ Such,” he said, “ and so great should indeed he the 
punishment of a Knight Templar, who wilfully offended 
against the rules of his Order in such weighty points. 
But if, by means of charms and of spells, Satan had ob- 
tained dominion over the Knight, perchance because he 
cast his eyes too lightly upon a damsel’s beauty, we are 
then rather to lament than chastise his backsliding; and, 
imposing on him only such penance as may purify him 
from his iniquity, we are to turn the full edge of our indig- 
nation upon the accursed instrument, which had so well- 
nigh occasioned his utter falling away. — Stand forth, 
therefore, and bear witness, ye who have witnessed these 
unhappy doings, that we may judge of the sum and bear- 
ing thereof; and judge whether our justice may be satisfied 
with the punishment of this infidel woman, or if we must 
go on, with a bleeding heart, to the further proceeding 
against our brother.” 

Several witnesses were called upon to prove the risks to 
which Bois-Guilbert exposed himself in endeavouring to 
save Rebecca from the blazing castle, and his neglect of his 
personal defence in attending to her safety. The men 
gave these details with the exaggerations 'common to vul- 

1 A phrase, properly two separate words, but popularly regarded as 
an intense form of “Anathema,” i.e., a curse pronounced with relig- 
ious solemnity. See 1 Corinthians xvi. 22. 

2 “ That the brethren should not have relations with,” etc. 

3 “ Concerning the shunning of kisses.” 


424 


1 VANIK) E 


gar minds which have been strongly excited by any remark- 
able event, and their natural disposition to the marvellous 
was greatly, increased by the satisfaction which their evi- 
dence seemed to afford to the eminent person for whose 
information it had been delivered. Thus the dangers 
which Bois-Guilbert surmounted, in themselves sufficiently 
great, became portentous in their narrative. The devotion 
of the Knight to Rebecca’s defence was exaggerated beyond 
the hounds, not only of discretion, hut even of the most 
frantic excess of chivalrous zeal; and his deference to what 
she said, even although her language was often severe and 
upbraiding, was painted as carried to an excess which, in 
a man of his haughty temper, seemed almost preternatural. 

The Preceptor of Templestowe war* then called on to 
describe the manner in which Bois-Guilbert and the J ewess 
arrived at the Preceptory. The evidence of Malvoisin was 
skilfully guarded. But while he apparently studied to 
spare the feelings of Bois-Guilbert, he threw in, from time 
to time, such hints as seemed to infer that he laboured, 
under some temporary alienation of mind, so deeply did 
he appear to be enamoured of the damsel whom he brought 
along with him. With sighs of penitence, the Preceptor 
avowed his own contrition for having admitted Rebecca 
and her lover within the walls of the Preceptory — “ But 
my defence,” he concluded, “ has been made in my con- 
fession to our most reverend father the Grand Master; he 
knows my motives were not evil, though my conduct may 
have been irregular. J oyfully will I submit to any 
penance he shall assign me.” 

“ Thou hast spoken well, Brother Albert,” said Beau- 
manoir; “ thy motives were good, since thou didst judge 
it right to arrest thine erring brother in his career of pre- 
cipitate folly. But thy conduct was wrong; as he that 
would stop a runaway steed, and seizing by the stirrup 
instead of the bridle, receiveth injury himself, instead of 
accomplishing his purpose. Thirteen pater-nosters are 
assigned by our pious founder for matins, and nine for 
vespers; be those services doubled by thee. Thrice a week 
are Templars permitted the use of flesh; but do thou keep 
fast for all the seven days. This do for six weeks to come, 
and thy penance is accomplished.” 

With a hypocritical look of the deepest submission, the 


IVANIIOE 


425 


Precejptor of Templestowe bowed to the ground before his 
Superior, and resumed his seat. 

“ Were it not well, brethren,” said the Grand Master, 
“ that we examine something into the former life and con- 
versation of this woman, specially that we may discover 
whether she be one likely to use magical charms and spells, 
since the truths which we have heard may well incline us 
to suppose that in this unhappy course our erring brother 
has been acted upon by some infernal enticement and 
delusion? ” 

Herman of Goodalricke was the fourth Preceptor pres- 
ent; the other three were Conrade, Malvoisin, and Bois- 
Guilbert himself. Herman was an ancient warrior, whose 
face was marked with scars inflicted by the sabre of the 
Moslemah, and had great rank and consideration among 
his brethren. He arose and bowed to the Grand Master, 
who instantly granted him license of speech. “ I would 
crave to know, most Reverend Father, of our valiant 
brother, Brian de Bois-Guilbert, what he says to these 
wondrous accusations, and with what eye he himself now 
regards his unhappy intercourse with this Jewish maiden?” 

“ Brian de Bois-Guilbert,” said the Grand Master, "thou 
hearest the question which our brother of Goodalricke 
desirest thou shouldst answer. I command thee to reply 
to him.” 

Bois-Guilbert turned his head towards the Grand Master 
when thus addressed, and remained silent. 

“ He is possessed by a dumb devil,” said the Grand 
Master. "Avoid thee, Sathanas! — Speak, Brian de Bois- 
Guilbert, I conjure thee, by this symbol of our Holy 
Order.” 

Bois-Guilbert made an effort to suppress his rising scorn 
and indignation, the expression of which, he was well 
aware, would have little availed him. “ Brian de Bois- 
Guilbert,” he answered, “ replies not, most Reverend 
Father, to such wild and vague charges. If his honour 
be impeached, he will defend it with his body, and with 
that sword which has often fought for Christendom.” 

“ We forgive thee. Brother Brian,” said the Grand Mas- 
ter; “ though that thou hast boasted thy warlike achieve- 
ments before us is a glorifying of thine own deeds, and 
cometh of the Enemy, who tempteth us to exalt our own 


426 


IVANHOE 


worship. But thou hast our pardon, judging thou speak- 
est less of thine own suggestion than from the impulse of 
him whom, by Heaven’s leave, we will quell and drive forth 
from our assembly.” A glance of disdain flashed from the 
dark fierce eyes of Bois-Guilbert, but he made no reply. — 
“ And now,” pursued the Grand Master, “ since our brother 
of Goodalricke’s question has been thus imperfectly an- 
swered, pursue we our quest, brethren, and with our pat- 
ron’s assistance we will search to the bottom this mystery 
of iniquity. — Let those who have aught to witness of the 
life and conversation of this Jewish woman stand forth 
before us.” There was a bustle in the lower part of the 
hall, and when the Grand Master enquired the reason, it 
was replied there was in the crowd a bedridden man whom 
the prisoner had restored to the perfect use of his limbs by 
a miraculous balsam. 

The poor peasant, a Saxon by birth, was dragged for- 
ward to the bar, terrified at the penal consequences which 
he might have incurred by the guilt of having been cured 
of the palsy by a Jewish damsel. Perfectly cured he cer- 
tainly was not, for he supported himself forward on 
crutches to give evidence. Most unwilling was his testi- 
mony, and given with many tears; but he admitted that 
two years since, when residing at York, he was suddenly 
afflicted with a sore disease, while labouring for Isaac the 
rich Jew, in his vocation of a joiner; that he had been 
unable to stir from his bed until the remedies applied by 
Rebecca’s directions, and especially a warming and spicy- 
smelling balsam, had in some degree restored him to the 
use of his limbs. Moreover, he said, she had given him a 
pot of that precious ointment, and furnished him with a 
piece of money withal, to return to the house of his father, 
near to Templestowe. “ And may it please your gracious 
Reverence,” said the man, “ I cannot think the damsel 
meant harm by me, though she hath the ill hap to be a 
Jewess; for even when I used her remedy, I said the Pater 
and the Creed, and it never operated a whit less kindly.” 

“ Peace, slave,” said the Grand Master, “ and begone! 
It well suits brutes like thee to be tampering and trinket- 
ing 1 with hellish cures, and to be giving your labour to 
the sons of mischief. I tell thee, the fiend can impose dis- 

1 Trafficking. 


IVANHOE 


427 


eases for the very purpose of removing them, in order to 
bring into credit some diabolical fashion of cure. Hast 
thou that unguent of which thou speakest? ” 

The peasant, fumbling in his bosom with a trembling 
hand, produced a small box, bearing some Hebrew charac- 
ters on the lid, which was, with most of the audience, a 
sure proof that the devil had stood apothecary. Beau- 
manoir, after crossing himself, took the box into his hand, 
and, learned in most of the Eastern tongues, read with 
ease the motto on the lid , — The Lion of the Tribe of Judah 
hath conquered. “ Strange jmwers of Sathanas,” said he, 
“ which can convert Scripture into blasphemy, mingling 
poison with our necessary food! — Is there no leech here 
who can tell us the ingredients of this mystic unguent? ” 

Two mediciners, as they called themselves, the one a 
monk, the other a barber, appeared, and avouched they 
knew nothing of the materials, excepting that they savoured 
of myrrh and camphire, which they took to be Oriental 
herbs. But with the true professional hatred to a success- 
ful practitioner of their art, they insinuated that, since the 
medicine was beyond their own knowledge, it must neces- 
sarily have been compounded from an unlawful and magi- 
cal pharmacopeia 1 ; since they themselves, though no con- 
jurors, fully understood every branch of their art, so far as 
it might be exercised with the good faith of a Christian. 
When this medical research was ended, the Saxon peasant 
desired humbly to have back the medicine which he had 
found so salutary; but the Grand Master frowned severely 
at the request. “ What is thy name, fellow ? ” said he to 
the cripple. 

“ Higg, the son of Snell/’ answered the peasant. 

“ Then Higg, son of Snell,” said the Grand Master, “ I 
tell thee it is better to be bedridden than to accept the 
benefit of unbelievers’ medicine that thou mayest arise and 
walk; better to despoil infidels of their treasure by the 
strong hand than to accept of them benevolent gifts, or 
do them service for wages. Go thou, and do as I have 
said.” 

“ Alack,” said the peasant, “ an it shall not displease 
your Reverence, the lesson comes too late for me, for I am 
but a maimed man; but I will tell my two brethren, who 
1 A treatise describing the various kinds of medicine. 


428 


IVANIIOE 


serve the rich Rabbi Nathan Ben Samuel/ that your master- 
ship says it is more lawful to rob him than to render him 
faithful service.” 

“ Out with the prating villain! ” said Beaumanoir, who 
was not prepared to refute this practical application of his 
general maxim. 

Higg, the son of Snell, withdrew into the crowd, but, 
interested in the fate of his benefactress, lingered until he 
should learn her doom, even at the risk of again encounter- 
ing the frown of that severe judge, the terror of which 
withered his very heart within him. 

• At this period of the trial, the Grand Master commanded 
Rebecca to unveil herself. Opening her lips for the first 
time, she replied patiently, but with dignity, — “ That it 
was not the wont of the daughters of her people to uncover 
their faces when alone in an assembly of strangers/’ The 
sweet tones of her voice, and the softness of her reply, im- 
pressed on the audience a sentiment of pity and sympathy. 
But Beaumanoir, in whose mind the suppression of each 
feeling of humanity which could interfere with his im- 
agined duty was a virtue of itself, repeated his commands 
that his victim should be unveiled. The guards were 
about to remove her veil accordingly, when she stood up 
before the Grand Master and said, “ Nay, but for the love 
of your own daughters — Alas,” she said, recollecting her- 
self, “ ye have no daughters ! — yet for the remembrance of 
your mothers — for the love of your sisters, and of female 
decency, let me not be thus handled in your presence; it 
suits not a maiden to be disrobed by such rude grooms. I 
will obey you,” she added, with an expression of patient 
sorrow in her voice, which had almost melted the heart 
of Beaumanoir himself; “ ye are elders among your people, 
and at your command I wall show the features of an ill- 
fated maiden.” 

She withdrew her veil, and looked on them with a coun- 
tenance in which bashfulness contended with dignity. Her 
exceeding beauty excited a murmur of surprise, and the 
younger knights told each other with their eyes, in silent 
correspondence, that Brian’s best apology was in the power 
of her real charms, rather than of her imaginary ’witchcraft. 

1 This should be “ Israel” and not “Samuel.” See the first para- 
graph of Chapter xxxv. 


IVANHOE 


429 


But Iligg, the son of Snell, felt most deeply the effect pro- 
duced by the sight of the countenance of his benefactress. 
“ Let me go forth/’ he said to the warders at the door of 
the hall , — “ let me go forth! — To look at her again will 
kill me, for I have had a share in murdering her / 7 

“ Peace, poor man,” said Rebecca, when she heard his 
exclamation; “ thou hast done me no harm by speaking the 
truth — thou canst not aid me by thy complaints or lamen- 
tations. Peace, I pray thee — go home and save thyself / 7 
Higg was about to be thrust out by the compassion of the 
warders, who were apprehensive lest his clamorous grief 
should draw upon them reprehension, and upon himself 
punishment. But he promised to be silent, and was per- 
mitted to remain. The two men-at-arms, with whom 
Albert Malvoisin had not failed to communicate upon the 
import of their testimony, were now called forward. 
Though both were hardened and inflexible villains, the 
sight of the captive maiden, as well as her excelling beauty, 
at first appeared to stagger them; but an expressive glance 
from the Preceptor of Templestowe restored them to their 
dogged composure; and they delivered, with a precision 
which would have seemed suspicious to more impartial 
judges, circumstances either altogether fictitious or trivial, 
and natural in themselves, but rendered pregnant with 
suspicion by the exaggerated manner in which they were 
told, and the sinister commentary which the witnesses 
added to the facts. The circumstances of their evidence 
would have been, in modem days, divided into two classes 
— those which were immaterial, and those which were 
actually and physically impossible. But both were, in 
those ignorant and superstitious times, easily credited as 
proofs of guilt. — The first class set forth, that Rebecca was 
heard to mutter to herself in an unknown tongue — that 
the songs she sung by fits were of a strangely sweet sound, 
which made the ears of the hearer tingle, and his heart 
throb — that she spoke at times to herself, and seemed to 
look upward for a reply — that her garments were of a 
strange and mystic form, unlike those of women of good 
repute — that she had rings impressed with cabalistical de- 
vices, and that strange characters were broidered on her veil. 

All these circumstances, so natural and so trivial, were 
gravely listened to as proofs, or, at least, as affording strong 


430 


IVANIIOE 


suspicions that Rebecca had unlawful correspondence with 
mystical powers. 

But there was less equivocal testimony, which the credu- 
lity of the assembly, or of the greater part, greedily swal- 
lowed, however incredible. One of the soldiers had seen 
her work a cure upon a wounded man, brought with them 
to the castle of Torquilstone. She did, he said, make cer- 
tain signs upon the wound, and repeated certain mysterious 
words, which he blessed God he understood not, when the 
iron head of a square cross-how holt disengaged itself from 
the wound, the bleeding was stanched, the wound was 
closed, and the dying man was, within a quarter of an hour, 
walking upon the ramparts, and assisting the witness in 
managing a mangonel, or machine for hurling stones. This 
legend was probably founded upon the fact that Rebecca 
had attended on the wounded Ivanhoe when in the castle 
of Torquilstone. But it w T as the more difficult to dispute 
the accuracy of the witness, as, in order to produce real 
evidence in support of his verbal testimony, he drew from 
his pouch the very bolt-head which, according to his story, 
had been miraculously extracted from the wound; and as 
the iron weighed a full ounce, it completely confirmed the 
tale, however marvellous. 

His comrade had been a witness from a neighbouring 
battlement of the scene betwixt Rebecca and Bois-Guilbert, 
when she was upon the point of precipitating herself from 
the top of the tower. Not to be behind his companion, 
this fellow stated that he had seen Rebecca perch herself 
upon the parapet of the turret, and there take the form of 
a milk-white swan , 1 under which appearance she flitted 
three times round the castle of Torquilstone; then again 
settle on the turret, and once more assume the female form. 

Less than one half of this weighty evidence would have 
been sufficient to convict any old woman, poor and ugly, 
even though she had not been a Jewess. United with that 
fatal circumstance, the body of proof was too weighty for 
Rebecca’s youth, though combined with the most exquisite 
beauty. 

The Grand Master had collected the suffrages, and now 
in a solemn tone demanded of Rebecca what she had to say 

1 The change from a maiden into a swan was a frequent theme of 
medkeval legend. 


I VAN HOE 


431 


against the sentence of condemnation which he was ahont 
to pronounce. 

“ To invoke your pity,” said the lovely Jewess, with a 
voice somewhat tremulous with emotion, “ would, I am 
aware, be as useless as I should hold it mean. To state 
that to relieve the sick and wounded of another religion 
cannot be displeasing to the acknowledged Founder of 
both our faiths were also unavailing; to plead that many 
things which these men (whom may Heaven pardon!) have 
spoken against me are impossible, would avail me but little, 
since you believe in their possibility; and still less would 
it advantage me to explain, that the peculiarities of my 
dress, language, and manners are those of my people — I 
had wellnigh said of my country, hut, alas! we have no 
country. Nor will I even vindicate myself at the expense 
of my oppressor, who stands there listening to the fictions 
and surmises which seem to convert the tyrant into the 
victim. — God be judge between him and me! but rather 
would I submit to ten such deaths as your pleasure may 
denounce against me, than listen to the suit which that 
man of Belial has urged upon me — friendless, defenceless, 
and his prisoner. But he is of your own faith, and his 
lightest affirmance would weigh down the most solemn 
protestations of the distressed J ewess. I will not therefore 
return to himself the charge brought against me; but to 
himself — yes, Brian de Bois-Guilbert, to thyself I appeal, 
whether these accusations are not false? as monstrous and 
calumnious as they are deadly? ” 

There was a pause; all eyes turned to Brian de Bois- 
Guilbert. He was silent. 

“ Speak,” she said, “ if thou art a man — if thou art a 
Christian, speak! — I conjure thee, by the habit which thou 
dost wear, by the name thou dost inherit — by the knight- 
hood thou dost vaunt — by the honour of thy mother — by 
the tomb and the hones of thy father — I conjure thee to 
say, are these things true ? ” 

“ Answer her, brother,” said the Grand Master, “ if the 
Enemy with whom thou dost wrestle will give thee power.” 

In fact, Bois-Guilbert seemed agitated by contending 
passions, which almost convulsed his features, and it was 
with a constrained voice that at last he replied, looking 
to Ptebecca, — “ The scroll! — the scroll! ” 


432 


IVANHOE 


“Ay/’ said Beaumanoir, “this is indeed testimony! 
The victim of her witcheries can only name the fatal scroll, 
the spell inscribed on which is, doubtless, the cause of his 
silence.” 

But Rebecca put another interpretation on the words 
extorted as it were from Bois-Guilbert, and glancing her 
eye upon the slip of parchment which she continued to 
hold in her hand, she read written thereupon in the Arabian 
character. Demand a Champion! The murmuring com- 
mentary which ran through the assembly at the strange 
reply of Bois-Guilbert gave Rebecca leisure to examine 
and instantly to destroy the scroll unobserved. When the 
whisper had ceased, the Grand Master spoke. 

“ Rebecca, thou canst derive no benefit from the evidence 
of this unhappy knight, for whom, as we well perceive, the 
Enemy is yet too powerful. Hast thou aught else to say? ” 

“ There is yet one chance of life left to me,” said Rebecca, 
“ even by your own fierce laws. Life has been miserable 
— miserable, at least, of late — but I will not cast away the 
gift of God, while he affords me the means of defending it. 
I deny this charge — I maintain my innocence, and I declare 
the falsehood of this accusation — I challenge the privilege 
of trial by combat, and will appear by my champion.” 

“ And who, Rebecca,” replied the Grand Master, “ will 
lay lance in rest for a sorceress? who will be the champion 
of a J ew^ess ? ” 

“ God will raise me up a champion,” said Rebecca. . “ It 
cannot be that in merry England — the hospitable, the 
generous, the free, where so many are ready to peril their 
lives for honour — there will not be found one to fight for 
justice. But it is enough that I challenge the trial by 
combat — there lies my gage.” 

She took her embroidered glove from her hand, and flung 
it down before the Grand Master with an air of mingled 
simplicity and dignity which excited universal surprise 
and admiration. 

[It was possibly Scott’s own legal training that made him delight 
in introducing trials into his works of fiction. Particularly interest- 
ing analogies to the one described in this chapter may be found in 
the account of the “ Vehmegericht ” in Anne of Geierstein and in 
Canto ii of Marmion. Rebecca’s demand for a champion gives the 
artistic “ motive” for the remaining chapters of the story. Do you 
think any irony is intended in her last speech about England, “the 
hospitable, the generous, the free ” ? ] 


CHAPTER XXXVIII 


There I throw my gage, 

To prove it on thee to the extremest point 
Of martial daring. 

Richard IT. 

Even - Lucas Beaumanoir himself was affected by the 
mien and appearance of Rebecca. He was not originally a 
cruel or even a severe man; but with passions by nature 
cold, and with a high, though mistaken, sense of duty, his 
heart had been gradually hardened by the ascetic life which 
he pursued, the supreme power which he enjoyed, and 
the supposed necessity of subduing infidelity and eradi- 
cating heresy, which he conceived peculiarly incumbent 
on him. His features relaxed in their usual severity as 
he gazed upon the beautiful creature before him, alone, 
unfriended, and defending herself with so much spirit and 
courage. He crossed himself twice, as doubting whence 
arose the unwonted softening of a heart, which on such 
occasions used to resemble in hardness the steel of his 
sword. At length he spoke. 

“ Damsel,” he said, “ if the pity I feel for thee arise 
from any practice thine evil arts have made on me, great 
is thy guilt. But I rather judge it the kinder feelings of 
nature, which grieves that so goodly a form should be a 
vessel of perdition. Repent, my daughter — confess thy 
witchcrafts — turn thee from thine evil faith — embrace this 
holy emblem, and all shall yet he well with thee here and 
hereafter. In some sisterhood of the strictest order shalt 
thou have time for prayer and fitting penance, and that 
repentance not to be repented of. This do and live — 
what has the law of Moses done for thee that thou should- 
est die for it? ” 

“ It was the law of my fathers,” said Rebecca; “ it was 
delivered in thunders and in storms upon the mountain of 
28 


434 


IV AN HOE 


Sinai, in cloud and in fire. This, if ye are Christians, ye 
believe — it is, you say, recalled; hut so my teachers have 
not taught me.” 

“ Let our chaplain,” said Beaumanoir, “ stand forth, and 
tell this obstinate infidel ” 

“ Forgive the interruption,” said Rebecca meekly; “ I 
am a maiden, unskilled to dispute for my religion, but I can 
die for it, if it be God’s will. — Let me pray your answer to 
my demand of a champion.” 

“ Give me her glove,” said Beaumanoir. “ This is in- 
deed,” he continued, as he looked at the flimsy texture and 
slender fingers, “ a slight and frail gage for a purpose so 
deadly! — Seest thou, Rebecca, as this thin and light glove 
of thine is to one of our heavy steel gauntlets, so is thy 
cause to that of the Temple, for it is our Order which thou 
hast defied.” 

“ Cast my innocence into the scale,” answered Rebecca, 
“ and the glove of silk shall outweigh the glove of iron.” 

“ Then thou dost persist in thy refusal to confess thy 
guilt, and in that bold challenge which thou hast made ? ” 

“ I do persist, noble sir,” answered Rebecca. 

“ So be it then, in the name of Heaven,” said the Grand 
Master; “ and may God show the right! ” 

“ Amen,” replied the Preceptors around him, and the 
word was deeply echoed by the whole assembly. 

“ Brethren,” said Beaumanoir, “ you are aware that we 
might well have refused to this woman the benefit of the 
trial by combat — but though a Jewess and an unbeliever, 
she is also a stranger and defenceless, and God forbid that 
she should ask the benefit of our mild laws, and that it 
should be refused to her. Moreover, we are knights and 
soldiers as well as men of religion, and shame it were to us, 
upon any pretence, to refuse proffered combat. Thus, 
therefore, stands the case. Rebecca, the daughter of Isaac 
of York, is, by many frequent and suspicious circumstances, 
defamed of sorcery practised on the person of a noble 
knight of our Holy Order, and hath challenged the combat 
in proof of her innocence. To whom, reverend brethren, 
is it your opinion that we should deliver the gage of battle, 
naming him, at the same time, to be our champion on the 
field? ” 

“ To Brian de Bois-Guilbert, whom it chiefly concerns,” 


IVANHOE 


435 


said the Preceptor of Goodalrieke, “ and who, moreover, 
best knows how the truth stands in this matter.” 

“ But if,” said the Grand Master, “ our brother Brian 
he under the influence of a charm or a spell — we speak hut 
for the sake of precaution, for to the arm of none of our 
Holy Order would we more willingly confide this or a more 
weighty cause.” 

“ Reverend father,” answered the Preceptor of Good- 
alricke, “ no spell can affect the champion who comes 
forward to fight for the judgment of God.” 

“ Thou sayest right, brother,” said the Grand Master. 
“ Albert Malvoisin, give this gage of battle to Brian de 
Bois-Guilbert. — It is our charge to thee, brother,” he con- 
tinued, addressing himself to Bois-Guilbert, “ that thou do 
thy battle manfully, nothing doubting that the good cause 
shall triumph. — And do thou, Rebecca, attend, that we as- 
sign thee the third day from the present to find a cham- 
pion.” 

“ That is but brief space,” answered Rebecca, “ for a 
stranger, who is also of another faith, to find one who will 
do battle, wagering life and honour for her cause, against 
a knight who is called an approved soldier.” 

“ We may not extend it,” answered the Grand Master; 
“ the field must be foughten in our own presence, and 
divers weighty causes call us on the fourth day* from 
hence.” 

“ God’s will be done!” said Rebecca; “I put my trust 
in Him to whom an instant is as effectual to save as a 
whole age.” 

“Thou hast spoken well, damsel,” said the Grand Master; 
“ but well know we who can array himself like an angel 
of light . 1 It remains but to name a fitting place of combat, 
and, if it so hap, also of execution. — Where is the Preceptor 
of this house? ” 

Albert Malvoisin, still holding Rebecca’s glove in his 
hand, was speaking to Bois-Guilbert very earnestly, but in 
a low voice. 

“How!” said the Grand Master, “will he not receive 
the gage? ” 

“ He will — he doth, most Reverend Father,” said Mal- 
voisin, slipping the glove under his own mantle. “And 

1 2 Corinthians xi. 14, 


436 


I VAN II O E 


for the place of combat, I hold the fittest to be the lists 
of Saint George belonging to this Preceptory, and used by 
us for military exercise.” 

“ It is well,” said the Grand Master . — ■“ Rebecca, in those 
lists shalt thou produce thy champion; and if thou failest 
to do so, or if thy champion shall be discomfited by the 
judgment of God, thou shalt then die the death of a sor- 
ceress, according to doom. — Let this our judgment be 
recorded, and the record read aloud, that no one may pre- 
tend ignorance.” 

One of the chaplains who acted as clerks to the chapter 
immediately engrossed the order in a huge volume which 
contained the proceedings of the Templar Knights when 
solemnly assembled on such occasions; and when he had 
finished writing, the other read aloud the sentence of the 
Grand Master, which, when translated from the Norman- 
French in which it was couched, was expressed as follows: — 

“Rebecca, a Jewess, daughter of Isaac of York, being 
attainted of sorcery, seduction, and other damnable prac- 
tices, practised on a Knight of the most Holy Order of the 
Temple of Zion, doth deny the same; and saith, that the 
testimony delivered against her this day is false, wicked, 
and disloyal; and that by lawful essoine * of her body as 
being unable to combat in her own behalf, she doth offer, 
by a Champion instead thereof, to avouch 1 her case, he 
performing his loyal devoir 2 in all knightly sort, with such 
arms as to gage of battle do fully appertain, and that at her 
peril and cost. And therewith she proffered her gage. 
And the gage having been delivered to the noble Lord and 
Knight, Brian de Bois-Guilbert, of the Holy Order of the 
Temple of Zion, he was appointed to do this battle, in 
behalf of his Order and himself, as injured and impaired by 
the practices of the appellant. Wherefore the most rev- 
erend Father and puissant Lord, Lucas Marquis of Beau- 
manoir, did allow of the said challenge, and of the said 
essoine of the appellant’s body, and assigned the third day 
for the said combat, the place being the enclosure called the 
lists of Saint George, near to the Preceptory of Temple- 

* Essoine signifies excuse, and here relates to the appellant’s privi- 
lege of appearing by her champion, in excuse of her own person on 
account of her sex. [Scott.] 

1 Prove. 3 Duty. 


IVAN1I0E 


437 


stowe. And the Grand Master appoints the appellant to 
appear there by her champion, on pain of doom, as a person 
convicted of sorcery or seduction; and also the defendant 
so to appear, under the penalty of being held and adjudged 
recreant in case of default; and the noble Lord and most 
reverend Father aforesaid appointed the battle to be done 
in his own presence, and according to all that is commend- 
able and profitable in such a case. And may God aid the 
just cause! ” 

“ Amen! ” said the Grand M aster; and the word was 
echoed by all around. Rebecca spoke not, but she looked 
up to heaven, and, folding her hands, remained for a 
minute without change of attitude. She then modestly 
reminded the Grand Master that she ought to be permitted 
some opportunity of free communication with her friends, 
for the purpose of making her condition known to them, 
and procuring, if possible, some champion to fight in her 
behalf. 

“ It is just and lawful/’ said the Grand Master; “ choose 
what messenger thou shalt trust, and he shall have free 
communication with thee in thy prison-chamber.” 

“ Is there,” said Rebecca, " any one here who, either for 
love of a good cause, or for ample hire, will do the errand 
of a distressed being? 99 

All were silent; for none thought it safe, in the presence 
of the Grand Master, to avow any interest in the calumni- 
ated prisoner, lest he should be suspected of leaning towards 
Judaism. Not even the prospect of reward, far less any 
feelings of compassion alone, could surmount this appre- 
hension. 

Rebecca stood for a few moments in indescribable 
anxiety, and then exclaimed, "Is it really thus? — And, in 
English land, am I to be deprived of the poor chance of 
safety which remains to me, for want of an act of charity 
which would not be refused to the worst criminal? ” 

Higg, the son of Snell, at length replied, “ I am but a 
maimed man, but that I can at all stir or move was owing 
to her charitable assistance. — I will do thine errand,” he 
added, addressing Rebecca, " as well as a crippled object 
can, and happy were my limbs fleet enough to repair the 
mischief done by my tongue. Alas! when I boasted of thy 
charity, I little thought I was leading thee into danger! ” 


438 


IV AN HOE 


“ God,” said Kebecca, “ is the disposer of all. He can 
turn back the captivity of Judah, even by the weakest 
instrument. To execute his message the snail is as sure a 
messenger as the falcon. Seek out Isaac of York — here is 
that will pay for horse and man — let him have this scroll. 
— I know not if it be of Heaven the spirit which inspires 
me, but most truly do I judge that I am not to die this 
death, and that a champion will be raised up for me. Fare- 
well! — Life and death are in thy haste.” 

The peasant took the scroll, which contained only a few 
lines in Hebrew. Many of the crowd would have dissuaded 
him from touching a document so suspicious; but Higg was 
resolute in the service of his benefactress. She had saved 
his body, he said, and he was confident she did not mean to 
peril his soul. 

“ I will get me,” he said, “ my neighbour Buthan’s good 
capul,* and I will be at York within as brief space as man 
and beast may.” 

But as it fortuned, he had no occasion to go so far, for 
within a quarter of a mile from the gate of the Preceptory 
he met with two riders, whom, by their dress and their huge 
yellow caps, he knew to be Jews; and, on approaching more 
nearlv, discovered that one of them was his ancient ern- 
pi oyer, Isaac of York. The other was the Eabbi Ben Sam- 
uel; and both had approached as near to the Preceptory 
as they dared, on hearing that the Grand Master had sum- 
moned a chapter for the trial of a sorceress. 

“ Brother Ben Samuel,” said Isaac, “ my soul is dis- 
quieted, and I wot not why. This charge of necromancy is 
right often used for cloaking evil practices on our people.” 

“ Be of good comfort, brother,” said the physician; “thou 
canst deal with the Yazarenes as one possessing the mam- 
mon of unrighteousness, and canst therefore purchase im- 
munity at their hands — it rules the savage minds of those 
ungodly men, even as the signet of the mighty Solomon 
was said to command the evil genii. 1 — But what poor 
wretch comes hither upon his crutches, desiring, as I think, 
some speech of me? — Friend,” continued the physician, ad- 
dressing Higg, the son of Snell, “ I refuse thee not the aid 

* Capul, i.e., horse ; in a more limited sense, work-horse. [Scott.] 

1 This was one of the numberless legends called forth by the fame 
of Solomon. Browning alludes to it in his Alt Vogler. 


1VANH0E 


439 


of mine art, but I relieve not with one asper 1 those who beg 
for alms upon the highway. Out upon thee! — Hast thou 
the palsy in thy legs ? then let thy hands work for thy liveli- 
hood; for, albeit thou be’st unfit for a speedy post, or for 
a careful shepherd, or for the warfare, or for the service 
of a hasty master, yet there be occupations — how now, 
brother? ” said he, interrupting his harangue to look 
towards Isaac, who had but glanced at the scroll which 
Higg offered, when, uttering a deep groan, he fell from his 
mule like a dying man, and lay for a minute insensible. 

The Rabbi now dismounted in great alarm, and hastily 
applied the remedies which his art suggested for the recov- 
ery of his companion. He had even taken from his pocket 
a cupping apparatus, and was about to proceed to phle- 
botomy , 2 when the object of his anxious solicitude suddenly 
revived; but it was to dash his cap from his head, and to 
throw dust on his grey hairs. The physician was at first 
inclined to ascribe this sudden and violent emotion to the 
effects of insanity; and, adhering to his original purpose, 
began once again to handle his implements. But Isaac 
soon convinced him of his error. 

“ Child of my sorrow/’ he said, “ well shouldst thou be 
called Benoni , 3 instead of Rebecca! Why should thy death 
bring dowm my grey hairs to the grave, till, in the bitterness 
of my heart, I curse God and die ! ” 

“ Brother,” said the Rabbi, in great surprise, “ art thou 
a father of Israel, and dost thou utter words like unto 
these ? — I'trust that the child of thy house yet liveth ? ” 

“ She liveth,” answered Isaac; “ but it is as Daniel, who 
was called Belteshazzar, even when within the den of the 
lions . 4 She is captive unto those men of Belial, and they 
will wreak their cruelty upon her, sparing neither for her 
youth nor her comely favour. Oh! she was as a crown of 
green palms to my grey locks; and she must wither in a 
night, like the gourd of Jonah 5 ! — Child of my love! — child 
of my old age! — oh, Rebecca, daughter of Rachael! the 
darkness of the shadow of death hath encompassed thee.” 

“Yet read the scroll,” said the Rabbi; “ peradventure 
it may be that we may yet find out a way of deliverance.” 

1 A Turkish coin, of very small value. 

2 Bloodletting. 3 Genesis xxxv. 8. 

4 Daniel vi. 6 Jonah iv. 5-11. 


440 


1 VANJIOE 


“ Do thou read, brother,” answered Isaac, “ for mine eyes 
are as a fountain of water.” 

The physician read, but in their native language, the 
following words: — 

“ To Isaac, the son of Adonikam, whom the Gentiles call 
Isaac of York, }:>eace and the blessing of the promise be 
multiplied unto thee! — My father, I am as one doomed to 
die for that which my soul knoweth not — even for the 
crime of witchcraft. My father, if a strong man can be 
found to do battle for my cause with sword and spear, ac- 
cording to the custom of the Nazarenes, and that within the 
lists of Templestowe, on the third day from this time, per- 
adventure our fathers’ God will give him strength to defend 
the innocent, and her who hath none to help her. But if 
this may not be, let the virgins of our people mourn for 
me as for one cast off, and for the hart that is stricken by 
the hunter, and for the flower which is cut down by the 
scythe of the mower. Wherefore look now what thou 
doest, and whether there be any rescue. One Nazarene 
warrior might indeed bear arms in my behalf, even Wilfred, 
son of Cedric, whom the Gentiles call Ivanhoe. But he 
may not yet endure the weight of his armour. Neverthe- 
less, send the tidings unto him, my father; for he hath 
favour among the strong men of his people, and as he was 
our companion in the house of bondage, he may find some 
one to do battle for my sake. And say unto him, even unto 
him, even unto Wilfred, the son of Cedric, that if Rebecca 
live, or if Rebecca die, she liveth or dieth wholly free of the 
guilt she is charged withal. And if it be the will of God 
that thou slialt be deprived of thy daughter, do not thou 
tarry, old man, in this land of bloodshed and cruelty; but 
betake thyself to Cordova, where thy brother liveth in 
safety, under the shadow of the throne, even of the throne 
of Boabdil 1 the Saracen; for less cruel are the cruelties of 
the Moors unto the race of Jacob, than the cruelties of the 
Nazar enes of England.” 

Isaac listened with tolerable composure while Ben Sam- 
uel read the letter, and then again resumed the gestures 
and exclamations of Oriental sorrow, tearing his garments, 
besprinkling his head with dust, and ejaculating, “ My 

1 Scott seems to borrow the name of Boabdil, the last Moorish King 
of Granada, who was defeated by Ferdinand and Isabella in 1491. 


I VAN IIOE 


441 


daughter ! my daughter 1 ! flesh of my flesh, and hone of 
my bone 1 ! ” 

“ Yet,” said the Rabbi, “ take courage, for this grief 
availeth nothing. Gird up thy loins, and seek out this 
Wilfred, the son of Cedric. It may be he will help thee 
with counsel or with strength; for the youth hath favour 
in the eyes of Richard, called of the Nazarenes Coeur-de- 
Lion, and the tidings that he hath returned are constant 
in the land. It may be that he may obtain his letter, and 
his signet, commanding these men of blood, who take their 
name from the Temple to the dishonour thereof, that they 
proceed not in their purposed wickedness.” 

“ I will seek him out,” said Isaac, “ for he is a good 
youth, and hath compassion for the exile of Jacob. But he 
cannot bear his armour, and what other Christian shall 
do battle for the oppressed of Zion? ” 

“ Nay, but,” said the Rabbi, “ thou speakest as one that 
knoweth not the Gentiles. With gold shalt thou buy their 
valour, even as with gold thou buyest thine own safety. 
Be of good courage, and do 'thou set forward to find out 
this Wilfred of Ivanhoe. I will also up and be doing, for 
great sin it were to leave thee in thy calamity. I will hie 
me to the city of York, where many warriors and strong 
men are assembled, and doubt not I will find among them 
some one who will do battle for thy daughter; for gold is 
their god, and for riches will they pawn their lives as well 
as their lands. — Thou wilt fulfil, my brother, such promise 
as I may make unto them in thy name? ” 

“Assuredly, brother,” said Isaac, “and Heaven be praised, 
that raised me up a comforter in my misery. Howbeit, 
grant them not their full demand at once, for thou shalt 
find it the quality of this accursed people that they will ask 
pounds, and peradventure accept of ounces. — Nevertheless, 
be it as thou wiliest, for I am distracted in this thing, and 
what would my gold avail me if the child of my love should 
perish! ” 

“ Farewell,” said the physician, “ and may it be to thee 
as thy heart desireth.” 

They embraced accordingly, and departed on their several 
roads. The crippled peasant remained for some time look- 
ing after them. 

1 Compare Merchant of Venice, ii, 8, 15, and Genesis ii. 23. 


442 


1VANH0E 


“ These dog- Jews ! 99 said he; “ to take no more notice of 
a free guild-brother than if I w r ere a bond slave or a Turk, 
or a circumcised Hebrew like themselves! They might 
have flung me a mancus 1 or two, however. I was not 
obliged to bring their unhallowed scrawls, and run the risk 
of being bewitched, as more folks than one told me. And 
what care I for the hit of gold that the wench gave me, 
if I am to come to harm from the priest next Easter at 
confession, and he obliged to give him twice as much to 
make it up with him, and he called the Jew’s flying post all 
my life, as it may hap, into the bargain? I think I was 
bewitched in earnest when I was beside that girl! — But it 
was always so with Jew or Gentile, whosoever came near 
her — none could stay when she had an errand to go — and 
still, whenever I think of her, I would give shop and tools 
to save her life.” 

1 A Saxon coin, worth about 2s. 6d. 

[Study the effective contrast between the mental processes of the 
cultivated Orientals and the unlettered English messenger.] 


CHAPTER XXXIX 


O maid, unrelenting and cold as thou art, 

My bosom is proud as thine own. 

Seward. 

It was in the twilight of the day when her trial, if it 
could he called such, had taken place, that a low knock was 
heard at the door of Rebecca’s prison-chamber. It dis- 
turbed not the inmate, who was then engaged in the even- 
ing prayer recommended by her religion, and which con- 
cluded with a hymn we have ventured thus to translate 
into English. 

When Israel, of the Lord beloved, 

Out of the land of bondage came, 

Her father’s God before her moved, 

An awful guide, in smoke and flame. 

By day, along the astonish’d lands 
The cloudy pillar glided slow ; 

By night, Arabia’s crimson’d sands 
Return’d the fiery column’s glow. 


There rose the choral hymn of praise, 

And trump and timbrel answer’d keen, 
And Zion’s daughters pour’d their lays, 
With priest’s and warrior’s voice between. 
No portents now our foes amaze, 

Forsaken Israel wanders lone ; 

Our fathers would not know Thy ways, 

And Thou hast left them to their own. 


But present still, though now unseen, 

When brightly shines the prosperous day, 
Be thoughts of Thee a cloudy screen 
To temper the deceitful ray. 

And oh, when stoops on Judah’s path 
In shade and storm the frequent night, 

Be Thou, long-suffering, slow to wrath, 

A burning and a shining light ! 


444 


IV AN HO E 


Our hearts we left by Babel’s streams, 

The tyrant’s jest, the Gentile’s scorn ; 

No censer round our altar beams, 

And mute our timbrel, trump, and horn. 
But Thou hast said, the blood of goat, 

The flesh of rams, I will not prize ; 

A contrite heart and humble thought 
Are mine accepted sacrifice. 


When the sounds of Bebecca’s devotional hymn had 
died away in silence, the low knock at the door was again 
renewed. “ Enter,” she said, “ if thou art a friend; and if 
a foe, I have not the means of refusing thy entrance.” 

“ I am,” said Brian de Bois-Guilbert, entering the apart- 
ment, “ friend or foe, Behecca, as the event of this inter- 
view shall make me.” 

Alarmed at the sight of this man, whose licentious pas- 
sion she considered as the root of her misfortunes, Bebecca 
drew backward with a cautious and alarmed, yet not a 
timorous demeanour, into the farthest corner of (the apart- 
ment, as if determined to retreat as far as she could, hut to 
stand her ground when retreat became no longer possible. 
She drew herself into an attitude not of defiance, but of 
resolution, as one that would avoid provoking assault, yet 
was resolute to repel it, being offered, to the utmost of 
her power. 

“ You have no reason to fear me, Bebecca,” said the 
Templar; “ or if I must so qualify my speech, you have at 
least now no reason to fear me.” 

“ I fear you not, Sir Knight,” replied Bebecca, although 
her short-drawn breath seemed to belie the heroism of her 
accents; “ my trust is strong, and I fear thee not.” 

“ You have no cause,” answered Bois-Guilbert, gravely; 
“ my former frantic attempts you have not now to dread. 
Within your call are guards over whom I have no authority. 
They are designed to conduct you to death, Bebecca, yet 
would not suffer you to be insulted by any one, even by 
me, were my frenzy — for frenzy it is — to urge me so far.” 

“ May Heaven be praised! ” said the Jewess; “ death is 
the least of my apprehensions in this den of evil.” 

“ Ay,” replied the Templar, “ the idea of death is easily 
received by the courageous mind, when the road to it is 
sudden and open. A thrust with a lance, a stroke with a 


IVANIIOE 


445 


sword, were to me little — to you, a spring from a dizzy 
battlement, a stroke with a sharp poniard, has no terrors, 
compared with what either thinks disgrace. Mark me — I 
say this — perhaps mine own sentiments of honour are not 
less fantastic, Rebecca, than thine are; but we know alike 
how to die for them.” 

“ Unhappy man,” said the Jewess; “ and aid thou con- 
demned to expose thy life for principles of which thy 
sober judgment does not acknowledge the solidity? Surely 
this is a parting with your treasure for that which is not 
bread — but deem not so of me. Thy resolution may fluctu- 
ate on the wild and changeful billows of human opinion, 
but mine is anchored on the Rock of Ages.” 1 

“ Silence, maiden,” answered the Templar; “ such dis- 
course now avails but little. Thou art condemned to die 
not a sudden and easy death, such as misery chooses, and 
despair welcomes, but a slow, wretched, protracted course 
of torture, suited to what the diabolical bigotry of these 
men calls thy crime.” 

“ And to whom — if such my fate — to whom do I owe 
this? ” said Rebecca; “ surely only to him who, for a most 
selfish and brutal cause, dragged me hither, and who now, 
for some unknown purpose of his own, strives to exaggerate 
the wretched fate to which he exposed me.” 

“ Think not,” said the Templar, “ that I have so exposed 
thee; I would have bucklered thee against such danger 
with my own bosom, as freely as ever I exposed it to the 
shafts which had otherwise reached thy life.” 

“ Had thy purpose been the honourable protection of 
the innocent,” said Rebecca, “ I had thanked thee for thy 
care — as it is, thou hast claimed merit for it so often, that 1 
tell thee life is worth nothing to me, preserved at the price 
which thou wouldst exact for it.” 

“ Truce with thine upbraidings, Rebecca,” said the Tem- 
plar; “ I have my own cause of grief, and brook not that 
thy reproaches should add to it.” 

“ What is 'thy purpose, then, Sir Knight?” said the 
Jewess; “ speak it briefly. — If thou hast aught to do, save 
to witness the misery thou hast caused, let me know it; 
and then, if so it please you, leave me to myself — the step 

1 This phrase occurs in the marginal rendering of Isaiah xxvi. 4. 
Toplady’s famous hymn, Roclc of Ages, was published in 1776. 


446 


1VANH0E 


between time and eternity is short but terrible, and I have 
few moments to prepare for it.” 

“ I perceive, Rebecca,” said Bois-Guilbert, “ that thou 
dost continue to burden me with the charge of distresses 
which most fain would I have prevented.” 

“ Sir Knight,” said Rebecca, “ I would avoid reproaches 
— but what is more certain than that I owe my death to 
thine unbridled passion? ” 

“ You err — you err,” — said the Templar hastily, “ if 
you impute what I could neither foresee nor prevent to my 
purpose or agency. — Could I guess the unexpected arrival 
of yon dotard, whom some flashes of frantic valour, and the 
praises yielded by fools to the stupid self- torments of an 
ascetic, have raised for the present above his own merits, 
above common sense, above me, and above the hundreds 
of our Order who think and feel as men free from such 
silly and fantastic prejudices as are the grounds of his 
opinions and actions? ” 

“ Yet,” said Rebecca, “ you sate a judge upon me, inno- 
cent — most innocent — as you knew me to be — you con- 
curred in my condemnation, and, if I aright understood, 
are yourself to appear in arms to assert my guilt, and assure 
my punishment.” 

“ Thy patience, maiden,” replied the Templar. — “ Ho 
race knows so well as thine own tribes how to submit to the 
time, and so to trim their bark as to make advantage even 
of an adverse wind.” 

“ Lamented be the hour,” said Rebecca, “ that has taught 
such art to the House of Israel! but adversity bends the 
heart as fire bends the stubborn steel, and those who are no 
longer their own governors, and the denizens of their own 
free independent state, must ci-ouch before strangers. It is 
our curse, Sir Knight, deserved, doubtless, by our own mis- 
deeds and those of our fathers; but you — you who boast 
your freedom as your birthright, how much deeper is your 
disgrace when you stoop to soothe the prejudices of others, 
and that against your own conviction ? ” 

“ Your words are bitter, Rebecca,” said Bois-Guilbert, 
pacing the apartment with impatience, “ but I came not 
hither to bandy reproaches with you. — Know that Bois- 
Guilbert yields not to created man, although circumstances 
may for a time induce him to alter his plan. His will is 


IVANHOE 


447 


the mountain stream, which may indeed he turned for a 
little space aside by the rock, but fails not to find its course 
to the ocean. That scroll which warned thee 'to demand a 
champion, from whom couldst thou think it came, if not 
from Bois-Guilbert? In whom else couldst thou have ex- 
cited such interest ? ” 

“ A brief respite from instant death,” said Rebecca, 
“ which will little avail me — was this all thou couldst do 
for one on whose head thou hast heaped sorrow, and whom 
thou hast brought near even to the verge of the tomb? ” 

“ Ko, maiden,” said Bois-Guilbert, “ this was not all that 
I purposed. Had it not been for the accursed interference 
of yon fanatical dotard, and the fool of Goodalricke, who, 
being a Templar, affects to think and judge according to 
the ordinary rules of humanity, the office of the Champion 
Defender had devolved, not on a Preceptor, but on a Com- 
panion of the Order. Then I myself — such was my pur- 
pose — had, on the sounding of the trumpet, appeared in the 
lists as thy champion, disguised indeed in the fashion of a 
roving knight who seeks adventures to prove his shield 
and spear; and then, let Beaumanoir have chosen not one, 
hut two or three of the brethren here assembled, I had not 
doubted to cast them out of the saddle with my single 
lance. Thus, Rebecca, should thine innocence have been 
avouched, and to thine own gratitude would I have trusted 
for the reward of my victory.” 

“ This, Sir Knight,” said Rebecca, “ is but idle boasting 
— a brag of what you would have done had you not found 
it convenient to do otherwise. You received my glove, 
and my champion, if a creature so desolate can find one, 
must encounter your lance in the lists — yet you would 
assume the air of my friend and protector! ” 

“ Thy friend and protector,” said the Templar, gravely, 
“ I will yet be — but mark at what risk, or rather at what 
certainty, of dishonour; and then blame me not if I make 
my stipulations, before I offer up all that I have hitherto 
held dear, to save the life of a Jewish maiden.” 

“ Speak,” said Rebecca; “ I understand thee not.” 

“ Well, then,” said Bois-Guilbert, “ I will speak as freely 
as ever did doting penitent to his ghostly father, when 
placed in the tricky confessional. — Rebecca, if I appear not 
in these lists I lose fame and rank — lose that which is the 


448 


IVANHOE 


breath of my nostrils; the esteem, I mean, in which I am 
held by my brethren, and the hopes I have of succeeding 
to that mighty authority which is now wielded by the 
bigoted dotard Lucas de Beaumanoir, but of which I should 
make a different use. Such is my certain doom, except I 
appear in arms against thy cause. Accursed be he of Good- 
alricke, who baited this trap for me! and doubly accursed 
Albert de Malvoisin, who withheld me from the resolution 
I had formed, of hurling back the glove at the face of the 
superstitious and superannuated fool who listened to a 
charge so absurd, and against a creature so high in mind 
and so lovely in form as thou art! ” 

“ And what now avails rant or flattery?” answered Re- 
becca. “ Thou hast made thy choice between causing to 
be shed the blood of an innocent woman or of endanger- 
ing thine own earthly state and earthly hopes. What avails 
it to reckon together? — thy choice is made.” 

“ No, Rebecca,” said the knight, in a softer tone, and 
drawing nearer towards her; “my choice is not made — 
nay, mark, it is thine to make the election. If I appear 
in the lists, I must maintain my name in arms; and if I do 
so, championed or unchampioned, thou diest by the stake 
and faggot, for there lives not the knight who hath coped 
with me in arms on equal issue, or on terms of vantage, 
save Richard Coeur-de-Lion and his minion of Ivanhoe. 
Ivanhoe, as thou well knowest, is unable to bear his corslet, 
and Richard is in a foreign prison. If I appear, then thou 
diest, even although thy charms should instigate some hot- 
headed youth to enter the lists in thy defence.” 

“ And what avails repeating this so often? ” said Rebecca. 

“ Much,” replied the Templar; “ for thou must learn to 
look at thy fate on every side.” 

“Well, then, turn the tapestry,” said the Jewess, “and 
let me see the other side.” 

“ If I appear,” said Bois-Guilbert, “ in the fatal lists, 
thou diest by a slow and cruel death, in pain such as they 
say is destined to the guilty hereafter. But if I appear 
rot, then am I a degraded and dishonoured knight, accused 
of witchcraft and of communion with infidels — the illus- 
trious name which has grown yet more so under my wear- 
ing becomes a hissing and a reproach. I lose fame, I lose 
honour, I lose the prospect of such greatness as scarce 


IVANIIOE 


449 


emperors attain to — I sacrifice mighty ambition, I destroy 
schemes built as high as the mountains with which heathens 
say their heaven was once nearly scaled — and yet, Rebecca,” 
he added, throwing himself at her feet, “ this greatness 
will I sacrifice, this fame will I renounce, this power will I 
forego, even now when it is half within my grasp, if thou 
wilt say, Bois-Guilbert, I receive thee for my lover.” 

“ Think not of such foolishness, Sir Knight,” answered 
Rebecca, “ but hasten to - he Regent , 1 the Queen Mother, 
and to Prince J ohn — they cannot, in honour to the English 
crown, allow of the proceedings of your Grand Master. So 
shall you give me protection without sacrifice on your part, 
or the pretext of requiring any requital from me.” 

“ With these I deal not,” he continued, holding the train 
of her robe — “ it is thee only I address; and what can coun- 
terbalance thy choice? Bethink thee, were I a fiend, yet 
death is a worse, and it is death who is my rival.” 

“ I weigh not these evils,” said Rebecca, afraid to pro- 
voke the wild knight, yet equally determined neither to 
endure his passion nor even feign to endure it. “ Be a 
man, be a Christian! If indeed thy faith recommends 
that mercy which rather your tongues than your actions 
pretend, save me from this dreadful death, without seeking 
a requital which would change thy magnanimity into base 
barter.” 

“No, damsel!” said the proud Templar, springing up, 
“ thou shalt not thus impose on me — if I renounce present 
fame and future ambition, I renounce it for thy sake, and 
we will escape in company. Listen to me, Rebecca,” he 
said, again softening his tone; “ England, — Europe, — is not 
the world . 2 There are spheres in which we may act, ample 
enough even for my ambition. We will go to Palestine, 
where Conrade , 3 Marquis of Montserrat, is my friend — a 
friend free as myself from the doting scruples which fetter 
our free-born reason — rather with Saladin will we league 
ourselves than endure the scorn of the bigots whom we con- 

1 William of Longchamp, Bishop of Ely. 

2 Compare the phrase, “England is not the world,” in Schiller’s 
Maria Stuart, ii, 3, 248. 

3 Conrade, Marquis of Montferrat, was a famous Crusader who 
defended Tyre against Saladin in 1187, and was assassinated shortly 
after being chosen King of Jerusalem in 1192. 

29 


450 


IVANHOE 


temn. — I will form new paths to greatness/’ he continued, 
again traversing the room with hasty strides; “ Europe shall 
hear the loud step of him she has driven from her sons! — • 
Not the millions whom her crusaders send to slaughter, can 
do so much to defend Palestine — not the sabres of the thou- 
sands and ten thousands of Saracens can hew their way 
so deep into that land for which nations are striving, as the 
strength and policy of me and those brethren who, in de- 
spite of yonder old bigot, will adhere to me in good and 
evil. Thou shalt be a queen, Rebecca — on Mount Carmel 
shall we pitch the throne which my valour will gain for 
you, and I will exchange my long-desired batoon for a 
sceptre! ” 

“ A dream/’ said Rebecca; “an empty vision of the 
night, which, were it a waking reality, affects me not. 
Enough, that the power which thou mightest acquire, I 
will never share; nor hold I so light of country or religious 
faith as to esteem him who is willing to barter these ties, 
and cast away the bonds of the Order of which he is a 
sworn member, in order to gratify an unruly passion for 
the daughter of another people. — Put not a price on my 
deliverance, Sir Knight — sell not a deed of generosity — 
protect the oppressed for the sake of charity, and not for a 
selfish advantage. Go to the throne of England; Richard 
will listen to my appeal from these cruel men.” 

“ Never, Rebecca! ” said the Templar fiercely. “ If I 
renounce my Order, for thee alone will I renounce it — Am- 
bition shall remain mine, if thou refuse my love; I will not 
be fooled on all hands. — Stoop my crest to Richard? — ask 
a boon of that heart of pride? — Never, Rebecca, will I 
place the Order of the Temple at his feet in my person. I 
may forsake the Order, I never will degrade or betray it.” 

“ Now God be gracious to me,” said Rebecca, “ for the 
succour of man is wellnigh hopeless! ” 

“ It is indeed,” said the Templar; “ for, proud as thou 
art, thou hast in me found thy match. If I enter the lists 
with my spear in rest, think not any human consideration 
shall prevent my putting forth my strength; and think then 
upon thine own fate — to die the dreadful death of the 
w r orst of criminals — to be consumed upon a blazing pile — 
dispersed to the elements of which our strange forms are so 
mystically composed — not a relic left of that graceful 


IV AN HOE 


451 


frame, from which we could say this lived and moved! — ■ 
Rebecca, it is not in woman to sustain this prospect — thou 
wilt yield to my suit.” 

“ Bois-Guilbert,” answered the Jewess, “ thou knowest 
not the heart of woman, or hast only conversed with those 
who are lost to her best feelings. I tell thee, proud Tem- 
plar, that not in thy fiercest battles hast thou displayed 
more of thy vaunted courage than has been shown by 
woman when called upon to suffer by affection or duty. I 
am myself a woman, tenderly nurtured, naturally fearful 
of danger, and impatient of pain — yet, when we enter those 
fatal lists, thou to fight and I to suffer, I feel the strong 
assurance within me that my courage shall mount higher 
than thine. Farewell — I waste no more words on thee; 
the time that remains on earth to the daughter of Jacob 
must be otherwise spent — she must seek the Comforter, 
who may hide his face from his people, but who ever opens 
his ear to the cry of those who seek him in sincerity and in 
truth.” 

“We part then thus?” said the Templar, after a short 
pause; “ would to Heaven that we had never met, or that 
thou hadst been noble in birth and Christian in faith! — 
Hay, by Heaven! when I gaze on thee, and think when and 
how we are next to meet, I could even wish myself one of 
thine own degraded nation; my hand conversant with in- 
gots and shekels, instead of spear and shield; my head bent 
down before each petty noble, and my look only terrible 
to the shivering and bankrupt debtor — this could I wish, 
Rebecca, to be near to thee in life, and to escape the fearful 
share I must have in thy death.” 

“ Thou hast spoken the J ew,” said Rebecca, “ as the per- 
secution of such as thou art has made him. Heaven in ire 
has driven him from his country, but industry has opened 
to him the only road to power and to influence which 
oppression has left unbarred. Read the ancient history of 
the people of God, and tell me if those by whom Jehovah 
wrought such marvels among the nations were then a 
people of misers and of usurers! — And know, proud knight, 
we number names amongst us to which your boasted north- 
ern nobility is as the gourd compared with the cedar — • 
names that ascend far back to those high times when the 
Divine Presence shook the mercy-seat between the cheru- 


452 


IV AN IIOE 


him, 1 and which derive their splendour from no earthly 
prince, but from the awful Voice which bade their fathers 
be nearest of the congregation to the Vision. Such were 
the princes of the House of Jacob.” 

Rebecca’s colour rose as she boasted the ancient glories 
of her race, but faded as she added, with a sigh, “ Such were 
the princes of Judah, now such no more! — They are tram- 
pled down like the shorn grass, and mixed with the mire 
of the ways. Yet are there those among them who shame 
not such high descent, and of such shall be the daughter 
of Isaac the son of Adonikam! Farewell!- — I envy not thy 
blood- won honours — I envy not thy barbarous descent from 
northern heathens — I envy thee not thy faith, which is 
ever in thy mouth, but never in thy heart nor in thy 
practice.” 

“ There is a spell on me, by Heaven! ” said Bois-Guilbert. 
“ 1 almost think yon besotted skeleton spoke truth, and 
that the reluctance with which I .part from thee hath some- 
thing in it more than is natural. — Fair creature! ” he said, 
approaching near her, but with great respect , — ■“ so young, 
so beautiful, so fearless of death! and yet doomed to die, 
and with infamy and agony. Who would not weep for 
thee? — The tear, that has been a stranger to these eyelids 
for twenty years, moistens them as I gaze on thee. But it 
must be — nothing may now save thy life. Thou and I 
are but the blind instruments of some irresistible fatality, 
that hurries us along, like goodly vessels driving before the 
storm, which are dashed against each other, and so perish. 
Forgive me, then, and let us part at least as friends part. 
I have assailed thy resolution in vain, and mine own is 
fixed as the adamantine decrees of fate.” 

“ Thus,” said Rebecca, “ do men throw on fate the issue 
of their own wild passions. But I do forgive thee, Bois- 
Guilbert, though the author of my early death. There are 
noble things which cross over thy powerful mind; but it is 
the garden of the sluggard, and the weeds have rushed up, 
and conspired to choke the fair and wholesome blossom.” 

“ Yes,” said the Templar, “ I am, Rebecca, as thou hast 
spoken me, untaught, untamed — and proud that, amidst 
a shoal of empty fools and crafty bigots, I have retained 
the pre-eminent fortitude that places me above them. I 

1 Exodus xxv. 18 — 22. 


IVANHOE 


have been a child of battle from my youth upward, high 
in my views, steady and inflexible in pursuing them. Such 
must 1 remain — proud, inflexible, and unchanging; and of 
this the world shall have proof. — But thou forgivest me, 
Rebecca? ” 

“ As freely as ever victim forgave her executioner.” 

“ Farewell, then,” said the Templar, and left the apart- 
ment. 

The Preceptor Albert waited impatiently in an adjacent 
chamber the return of Bois-Guilbert. 

“ Thou hast tarried long,” he said; “ I have been as if 
stretched on red-hot iron with very impatience. What if 
the Grand Master, or his spy Conrade, had come hither? 
I had paid dear for my complaisance. — But what ails thee, 
brother? — Thy step totters, thy brow is as black as night. 
Art thou well, Bois-Guilbert? ” 

“ Ay,” answered the Templar, “ as well as the wretch 
who is doomed to die within an hour. — Nay, by the rood, 
not half so well — for there be those in such state, who can 
lay down life like a cast-off garment. By Heaven, Mal- 
voisin, yonder girl hath wellnigh unmanned me. I am 
half resolved to go to the Grand Master, abjure the Order 
to his very teeth, and refuse to act the brutality which his 
tyranny has imposed on me.” 

“ Thou art mad,” answered Malvoisin; “ thou mayst 
thus indeed utterly ruin thyself, but canst not even find a 

chance therebv to save the life of this Jewess, which seems 

*/ ' 

so precious in thine eyes. Beaumanoir will name another 
of the Order to defend his judgment in thy place, and the 
accused will as assuredly perish as if thou hadst taken the 
duty imposed on thee.” 

“ ? Tis false — I will myself take arms in her behalf,” an- 
swered the Templar haughtily; “ and, should I do so, I 
think, Malvoisin, that thou knowest not one of the Order 
who will keep his saddle before the point of my lance.” 

“ Ay, but thou forgettest,” said the wily adviser, “thou 
wilt have neither leisure nor opportunity to execute this 
mad project. Go to Lucas Beaumanoir, and say thou hast 
renounced thy vow of obedience, and see how long the 
despotic old man will leave thee in personal freedom. The 
words shall scarce have left thy lips ere thou wilt either 
be an hundred feet under ground, in the dungeon of the 


454 


IVAN IIO E 


Preceptory, to abide trial as a recreant knight; or, if his 
opinion holds concerning thy possession, thou wilt be en- 
joying straw, darkness, and chains in some distant con- 
vent cell, stunned with exorcisms, and drenched with holy 
water, to expel the foul fiend which hath obtained dominion 
over thee. Thou must to the lists, Brian, or thou art a 
lost and dishonoured man.” 

“ I will break forth and fly,” said Bois-Guilbert — ■“ fly 
to some distant land to which folly and fanaticism have 
not yet found their way. No drop of the blood of this 
most excellent creature shall be spilled by my sanction.” 

“ Thou canst not fly,” said the Preceptor; “ thy ravings 
have excited suspicion, and thou wilt not be permitted to 
leave the Preceptory. Go and make the essay — present 
thyself before the gate, and command the bridge to be 
lowered, and mark what answer thou shalt receive. — Thou 
art surprised and offended; but is it not the better for 
thee? Wert thou to fly, what would ensue but the reversal 
of thy arms, the dishonour of thine ancestry, the degrada- 
tion of thy rank? — Think on it. Where shall thine old 
companions in arms hide their heads when Brian de Bois- 
Guilbert, the best lance of the Templars, is proclaimed 
recreant, amid the hisses of the assembled people? What 
grief will be at the Court of France! With what joy will 
the haughtv Richard hear the news, that the knight that 
set 1 him hard in Palestine, and wellnigh darkened his re- 
nown, has lost fame and honour for a Jewish girl whom he 
could not even save by so costly a sacrifice! ” 

“ Malvoisin,” said the Knight, “ I thank thee — thou 
hast touched the string at which my heart most readily 
thrills! — Come of it what may, recreant shall never be 
added to the name of Bois-Guilbert. Would to God, 
Richard, or any of his vaunting minions of England, would 
appear in these lists! — But they will be empty — no one 
will risk to break a lance for the innocent, the forlorn.” 

“ The better for thee, if it prove so,” said the Preceptor; 
“ if no champion appears, it is not by thy means that this 
unlucky damsel shall die, but by the doom of the Grand 
Master, with whom rests all the blame, and who will count 
that blame for praise and commendation.” 

“ True,” said Bois-Guilbert; “ if no champion appears, 

1 Pressed. 


I VAN HOE 


455 


I am but a part of the pageant, sitting indeed on horse- 
back in the lists, hut having no part in what is to follow.” 

“ None whatever,” said Malvoisin; “ no more than the 
armed image of Saint. George when it makes part of a 
procession.” 

“Well, I will resume my resolution,” replied the haughty 
Templar. “ She has despised me — repulsed me — reviled 
me; and wherefore should I offer up for her whatever of 
estimation I have in the opinion of others? Malvoisin, I 
will appear in the lists.” 

He left the apartment hastily as he uttered these words, 
and the Preceptor followed, to watch and confirm him in 
his resolution; for in Bois-Guilbert’s fame he had himself 
a strong interest, expecting much advantage from his being 
one day at the head of the Order, not to mention the prefer- 
ment of which Mont-Fitchet had given him hopes, on 
condition he would forward the condemnation of the un- 
fortunate Rebecca. Yet although, in combating his 
friend’s better feelings, he possessed all the advantage 
which a wily, composed, selfish disposition has over a man 
agitated by strong and contending passions, it required all 
Malvoisin’ s art to keep Bois-Guilbert steady to the purpose 
he had prevailed on him to adopt. He was obliged to 
watch him closely to prevent his resuming his purpose of 
flight; to intercept his communication with the Grand 
Master, lest he should come to an open rupture with his 
Superior; and to renew, from time to time, the various 
arguments by which he endeavoured to show that, in 
appearing as champion on this occasion, Bois-Guilbert, 
without either accelerating or ensuring the fate of Rebecca, 
would follow the only course by which he could save him- 
self from degradation and disgrace. 

[Note what is called “tragic elevation” in the dialogue, i.e a 
language removed, sublimated, from the speech of daily life. Distin- 
guish between scenes that test the moral fibre of a person when he is 
quite unconscious of any struggle (see almost every chapter of Scott), 
and scenes like the foregoing, embodying a conscious moral or spirit- 
ual struggle, which are comparatively rare in Scott. Contrast him, 
in this regard, with George Eliot and Hawthorne.] 


CHAPTER XL 


Shadows, avaunt ! Richard’s himself again. 

Richard III. 

When the Black Knight — for it becomes necessary to 
resume the train of his adventures — left the Trysting-tree 
of the generous Outlaw, he held his way straight to a 
neighbouring religious house, of small extent and revenue, 
called the Priory of Saint Botolph , 1 to which the wounded 
Ivanhoe had been removed when the castle was taken, 
under the guidance of the faithful Gurth and the mag- 
nanimous Wamba. It is unnecessary at present to mention 
what took place in the interim betwixt Wilfred and his 
deliverer; suffice it to say that, after long and grave com- 
munication, messengers were dispatched by the Prior in 
several directions, and that on the succeeding morning the 
Black Knight was about to set forth on his journey, accom- 
panied by the jester Wamba, who attended as his guide. 

“ We will meet / 7 he said to Ivanhoe, “ at Coningsburgh, 
the castle of the deceased Athelstane, since there thy father 
Cedric holds the funeral feast for his noble relation. I 
would see your Saxon kindred together, Sir Wilfred, and 
become better acquainted with them than heretofore. 
Thou also wilt meet me; and it shall be my task to reconcile 
thee to thy father. 7 ’ 

So saying, he took an affectionate farowell of Ivanhoe, 
who expressed an anxious desire to attend upon his deliv- 
erer. But the Black Knight would not listen to the pro- 
posal. 

“ Rest this day; thou wilt have scarce strength enough to 
travel on the next. I will have no guide with me but 
honest Wamba, who can play priest or fool as I shall be 
most in the humour . 77 

“ And I , 77 said Wamba, “ will attend you with all my 
heart. I would fain see the feasting at the funeral of 

1 An English saint of the seventh century, who founded a monas- 
tery in Lincolnshire at the place now called Boston (Botolphs-town). 


IV AN HOE 


457 


Athelstane; for, if it be not full and frequent, he will rise 
from the dead to rebuke cook, sewer, and cupbearer; and 
that were a sight worth seeing. Always, Sir Knight, I will 
trust your valour with making my excuse to my master 
Cedric, in case mine own wit should fail.” 

“ And how should my poor valour succeed, Sir Jester, 
when thy light wit halts'? — resolve me that.” 

“Wit, Sir Knight,” replied the Jester, “may do much. 
He is a quick, apprehensive knave, who sees his neighbour’s 
blind side, and knows how to keep the lee-gage 1 when his 
passions are blowing high. But valour is a sturdy fellow, 
that makes all split. He rows against both wind and tide, 
and makes way notwithstanding; and, therefore, good Sir 
Knight, while I take advantage of the fair weather in our 
noble master’s temper, I will expect you to bestir yourself 
when it grows rough.” 

“ Sir Knight of the Fetterlock, since it is your pleasure 
so to be distinguished,” said Ivanhoe, “ I fear me you have 
chosen a talkative and a troublesome fool to be your guide. 
But he knows every path and alley in the woods as well 
as e’er a hunter who frequents them; and the poor knave, 
as thou hast partly seen, is as faithful as steel.” 

“ Kay,” said the Knight, “ an he have the gift of show- 
ing my road, I shall not grumble with him that he desires 
to make it pleasant. — Fare thee well, land Wilfred — I 
charge thee not to attempt to travel till to-morrow at 
earliest.” 

So saying, he extended his hand to Ivanhoe, who pressed 
it to his lips, took leave of the Prior, mounted his horse, 
and departed, with Wamba for his companion. Ivanhoe 
followed them with his eyes, until they were lost in the 
shades of the s Hounding forest, and then returned into 
the convent. 

But shortly after matin-song, he requested to see the 
Prior. The old man came in haste, and enquired anxiously 
after the state of his health. 

“It is better,” he said, “than my fondest hope could 
have anticipated; either my wound has been slighter than 
the effusion of blood led me to suppose, or this balsam hath 
wrought a wonderful cure upon it. I feel already as if I 
could bear my corslet; and so much the better, for thoughts 

1 The sheltered or safe side ; opposite of weather-gage. 


458 


IV AN HOE 


pass my mind which render me unwilling to remain here 
longer in inactivity/’ 

“ Now, the saints forbid/’ said the Prior. “ that the son 
of the Saxon Cedric should leave our convent ere his 
wounds were healed! It were shame to our profession were 
we to suffer it.” 

“ Nor would I desire to leave your hospitable roof, vener- 
able father,” said Ivanlioe, “ did I not feel myself able to 
endure the journey, and compelled to undertake it.” 

“ And what can have urged you to so sudden a depart- 
ure? ” said the Prior. 

“ Have you never, holy father,” answered the Knight, 
“ felt an apprehension 1 of approaching evil, for which you 
in vain attempted to assign a cause? — Have you never 
found your mind darkened, like the sunny landscape, by 
the sudden cloud, which augurs a coming tempest? — And 
thinkest thou not that such impulses are deserving of at- 
tention, as being the hints of our guardian spirits, that 
danger is impending? ” 

“I may not deny,” said the Prior, crossing himself, “that 
such things have been, and have been of Heaven; but then 
such communications have had a visibly useful scope and 
tendency. But thou, wounded as thou art, what avails it 
thou shouldst follow the steps of him whom thou couldst 
not aid, were he to be assaulted? ” 

“ Prior,” said Ivanhoe, “ thou dost mistake — I am stout 
enough to exchange buffets with any who will challenge 
me to such a traffic. But were it otherwise, may I not aid 
him, were he in danger, by other means than by force of 
arms? It is but too well known that the Saxons love not 
the Norman race, and who knows what may be the issue, 
if he break in upon them when their hearts are irritated by 
the death of Athelstane, and their heads heated by the 
carousal in which they will indulge themselves? I hold 
his entrance among them at such a moment most perilous, 
and I am resolved to share or avert the danger; which, that 
I may the better do, I would crave of thee the use of some 
palfrey whose pace may be softer than that of my des- 
trier .” * 

* Destrier — war-horse. [Scott.] 

1 Study the use which Shakespeare makes of this in Macbeth and 
Romeo and Juliet. 


IVANHOE 


459 


Surely/ said the worthy churchman; “you shall have 
mine own ambling jennet, and I would it ambled as easy 
for your sake as that of the Abbot of Saint Albans . 1 2 3 Yet 
this will I say for Malkin, for so I call her, that unless 
you were to borrow a ride on the juggler’s steed that paces 
a hornpipe amongst the eggs, you could not go a journey on 
a creature so gentle and smooth-paced. I have composed 
many a homily - on her back, to the edification of my 
brethren of the convent, and many poor Christian souls.” 

“I pray you, reverend father,” said Ivanhoe, “let Malkin 
be got ready instantly, and bid Gurth attend me with mine 
arms.” 

“ Kayr, but fair sir,” said the Prior, “ I pray you to re- 
member that Malkin hath as little skill in arms as her 
master, and that I warrant not her enduring the sight or 
weight of your full panoply. Oh, Malkin, I promise you, 
is a beast of judgment, and will contend against any undue 
weight — I did but borrow the Fructus Temporum 3 from 
the priest of Saint Bees, and I promise you she would not 
stir from the gate until I had exchanged the huge volume 
for mv little breviarv.” 

“ Trust me, holy father,” said Ivanhoe, “ I will not dis- 
tress her with too much weight; and if she calls a combat 
with me, it is odds but she has the worst.” 

This reply was made while Gurth was buckling on the 
Knight’s heels a pair of large gilded spurs, capable of con- 
vincing any restive horse that his best safety lay in being 
conformable to the will of his rider. 

The deep and sharp rowels with which Ivanhoe’s heels 
were now armed, began to make the worthy Prior repent 
of his courtesy, and ejaculate, — ■“ Kay, but, fair sir, now I 
bethink me, my Malkin abideth not the spur — better it 
were that you tarry for the mare of our manciple 4 down at 
the Grange, which may be had in little more than an hour, 
and cannot but be tractable, in respect that she draweth 
much of our winter fire-wood, and eateth no corn.” 

“ I thank you, reverend father, but will abide by your 
first offer, as I see Malkin is already led forth to the gate. 

1 St. Albans is a famous abbey in Hertfordshire. 

2 Sermon. 

3 The Fruit of Times, so called, a chronicle of St. Albans. 

4 Steward. See Chaucer’s Prologue , 567-586. 


460 


IVANHOE 


Gurth shall carry mine armour; and for the rest, rely on 
it, that as I will not overload Malkin’s back, she shall not 
overcome my patience. And now, farewell! ” 

Ivanhoe now descended the stairs more hastily and easily 
than his wound promised, and threw himself upon the 
jennet, eager to escape the importunity of the Prior, who 
stuck as closely to his side as his age and fatness would 
permit, now singing the praises of Malkin, now recom- 
mending caution to the Knight in managing her. 

“ She is at the most dangerous period for maidens as 
well as mares,” said the old man, laughing at his own jest, 
“ being barely in her fifteenth year.” 

Ivanhoe, who had other web to weave than to stand 
canvassing a palfrey’s paces with its owner, lent but a deaf 
ear to the Prior’s grave advices and facetious jests, and 
having leapt on his mare, and commanded his squire (for 
such Gurtli now called himself) to keep close by his side, 
he followed the track of the Black Knight into the forest, 
while the Prior stood at the gate of the convent looking 
after him, and ejaculating, — “ Saint Mary! how prompt and 
fiery be these men of war! I would I had not trusted Mal- 
kin to his keeping, for, crippled as I am with the cold 
rheum, I am undone if aught but good befalls her. And 
yet,” said he, recollecting himself, “ as I would not spare 
my own old and disabled limbs in the good cause of Old 
England, so Malkin must e’en run her hazard on the same 
venture; and it may be they will think our poor house 
worthy of some munificent guerdon — or, it may be, they 
will send the old Prior a pacing nag. And if they do none 
of these, as great men will forget little men’s service, truly 
I shall hold me well repaid in having done that which is 
right. And it is now wellnigh the fitting time to summon 
the brethren to breakfast in the refectory — ah! I doubt 
they obey that call more cheerily than the bells for primes 1 
and matins.” 

So the Prior of Saint Botolph’s hobbled back again into 
the refectory, to preside over the stockfish 2 and ale, which 
was just serving out for the friars’ breakfast. Pursy and 
important, he sat him down at the table, and many a dark 

1 In the Roman Church, the offices said or sung in the first hour of 
the day, following immediately after matins and lauds. 

2 Dried codfish. 


IVANHOE 


4G1 


word lie threw out, of benefits to be expected to the con- 
vent, and high deeds of service done by himself, which, at 
another season, would have attracted observation. But as 
the stockfish was highly salted, and the ale reasonably 
powerful, the jaws of the brethren were too anxiously em- 
ployed to admit of their making much use of their ears; nor 
do w r e read of any of the fraternity who was tempted to 
speculate upon the mysterious hints of their Superior, ex- 
cept Father Diggory, who was severely afflicted by the 
toothache, so that he could only eat on one side of his 
jaws. 

In the meantime, the Black Champion and his guide were 
pacing at their leisure through the recesses of the forest; 
the good Knight whiles humming to himself the lay of 
some enamoured troubadour, sometimes encouraging by 
questions the prating disposition of his attendant, so that 
their dialogue formed a whimsical mixture of song and jest, 
of which w r e would fain give our readers some idea. You 
are then to imagine this Knight, such as we have already 
described him, strong of person, tall, broad-shouldered, and 
large of bone, mounted on his mighty black charger, which 
seemed made on purpose to bear his weight, so easily he 
paced forward under it, having the visor of his helmet 
raised, in order to admit freedom of breath, yet keeping the 
beaver, or under part, closed, so that his features could be 
but imperfectly distinguished. But his ruddy, embrowned 
cheek-bones could be plainly seen, and the large and bright 
blue eyes, that flashed from under the dark shade of the 
raised visor; and the whole gesture and look of the cham- 
pion expressed careless gaiety and fearless confidence — a 
mind which was unapt to apprehend danger, and prompt to 
defy it when most imminent — yet with whom danger was 
a familiar thought, as with one whose trade was war and 
adventure. 

The Jester wore his usual fantastic habit, but late acci- 
dents had led him to adopt a good cutting falchion, instead 
of his wooden sword, with a targe to match it; of both which 
weapons he had, notwithstanding his profession, shown 
himself a skilful master during the storming of Torquil- 
stone. Indeed, the infirmity of Wamba’s brain consisted 
chiefly in a kind of impatient irritability, which suffered 
him not long to remain quiet in any posture, or adhere 


462 


IVANHOE 


to any certain train of ideas, although he was for a few 
minutes alert enough in performing any immediate task, or 
in apprehending any immediate topic. On horseback, 
therefore, he was perpetually swinging himself backwards 
and forwards, now on the horse’s ears, then anon on the 
very rump of the animal, — now hanging both his legs on 
one side, and now sitting with his face to the tail, moping, 
mowing , 1 and making a thousand apish gestures, until his 
palfrey took his freaks so much to heart as fairly to lay 
him at his length on the green grass — an incident which 
greatly amused the Ivnight, but compelled his companion 
to ride more steadily thereafter. 

At the point of their journey at which we take them up, 
this joyous pair were engaged in singing a virelai , 2 as it 
was called, in which the clown bore a mellow burden , 3 to 
the better instructed Knight of the Fetterlock. And thus 
run the ditty: — 

Anna-Marie, love, up is the sun, 

Anna-Marie, love, morn is begun, 

Mists are dispersing, love, birds singing free, 

Up in the morning, love, Anna-Marie. 

Anna-Marie, love, up in the morn, 

The hunter is winding blythe sounds on his horn, 

The echo rings merry from rock and from tree, 

’Tis time to arouse thee, love, Anna-Marie. 

Wamba 

0 Tybalt, love, Tybalt, awake me not yet, 

Around my soft pillow while softer dreams flit ; 

For what are the joys that in waking we prove, 

Compared with these visions, 0 Tybalt, my love ? 

Let the birds to the rise of the mist carol shrill, 

Let the hunter blow out his loud horn on the hill ; 

Softer sounds, softer pleasures, in slumber I prove, — 

But think not I dreamt of thee, Tybalt, my love. 

“A dainty song,” said Wamba, when they had finished 
their carol, “ and I swear by my bauble, a pretty moral! — 
I used to sing it with Gurth, once my playfellow, and now, 
by the grace of God and his master, no less than a freeman; 

1 Making mouths. 

2 An old French form of poem, of a peculiar rhyme structure, 
which Scott does not attempt to reproduce. 

9 The bass, or second. 


IV AN HOE 


463 


and we once came by the cudgel for being so entranced by 
the melody that we lay in bed two hours after sunrise, 
singing the ditty betwixt sleeping and waking — my bones 
ache at thinking of the tune ever since. Nevertheless, I 
have played the part of Anna-Marie, to please you, fair 
sir. 

The J ester next struck into another carol, a sort of comic 
ditty, to which the Knight, catching up the tune, replied 
in the like manner. 


Knight and Wamba 

There came three merry men from south, west, and north, 
Ever more sing the roundelay ; 

To win the Widow of Wycombe forth, 

And where was the widow might say them nay ? 

The first was a knight, and from Tynedale lie came, 

Ever more sing the roundelay ; 

And his fathers, God save us, were men of great fame, 

And where was the widow might say him nay ? 

Of his father the laird, of his uncle the squire, 

He boasted in rhyme and in roundelay ; 

She bade him go bask by his sea- coal fire, 

For she was the widow would say him nay. 

Wamba 

The next that came forth, swore by blood and by nails, 
Merrily sing the roundelay ; 

Hur’s a gentleman, God wot, and hur's lineage was of Wales, 
And where was the widow might say him nay ? 

Sir David ap Morgan ap Griffith ap Hugh 
Ap Tudor ap Rhice, quoth his roundelay ; 

She said that one widow for so many was too few, 

And she bade the Welshman wend his way. 

But then next came a yeoman, a yeoman of Kent, 

Jollily singing his roundelay ; 

He spoke to the widow of living and rent, 

And where was the widow could say him nay ? 

BOTH 

So the knight and the squire were both left in the mire, 
There for to sing their roundelay ; 

For a yeoman of Kent, with his yearly rent, 

There never was a widow could say him nay. 


464 


IVANHOE 


“I would, Wamba,” said the Ivnight, “ that our host of 
the Trysting-tree, or the jolly Friar, his chaplain, heard 
this thy ditty in praise of our bluff yeoman.” 

“ So would not I,” said Wamba — “ but for the horn that 
hangs at your baldric.” 

“ Ay,” said the Knight, — “ this is a pledge of Locksley’s 
good-will, though I am not like to need it. Three mots on 
this bugle will, I am assured, bring round, at our need, a 
jolly band of yonder honest yeomen.” 

“ I would say, Heaven foref end,” said the J ester, “ were 
it not that that fair gift is a pledge they would let us pass 
peaceably.” 

“ Why, what meanest thou?” said the Knight; “ think- 
est thou that but for this pledge of fellowship they would 
assault us ? ” 

“ Kay, for me I say nothing,” said Wamba; “ for green 
trees have ears as well as stone walls. But canst thou 
construe me this, Sir Knight, — When is thy wine-pitcher 
and thy purse better empty than full? ” 

“ Why, never, I think,” replied the Knight. 

“ Thou never deservest to have a full one in thy hand, 
for so simple an answer! Thou hadst best empty thy 
pitcher ere thou pass it to a Saxon, and leave thy money 
at home ere thou walk in the greenwood.” 

“You hold our friends for robbers, then?” said the 
Knight of the Fetterlock. 

“ You hear me not say so, fair sir,” said Wamba; “ it 
may relieve a man’s steed to take off his mail when he hath 
a long journey to make; and, certes, it may do good to 
the rider’s soul to ease him of that which is the root 
of evil; therefore will I give no hard names to those 
who do such services. Only I would wish my mail at 
home, and my purse in my chamber, when I meet with 
these good fellows, because it might save them some 
trouble.” 

“ We are bound to pray for them, my friend, notwith- 
standing the fair character thou dost afford them.” 

“ Pray for them with all my heart,” said Wamba; “ but 
in the town, not in the greenwood, like the Abbot of Saint 
Bees, whom they caused to say mass with an old hollow 
oak-tree for his stall.” 

“ Say as thou list, Wamba,” replied the Knight, “ these 


IVANJIOE 


465 


yeomen did thy master Cedric yeomanly service at Torquil- 
stone.” 

“ Ay, truly/” answered Wamba; “ but that was in the 
fashion of their trade with Heaven.” 

“ Their trade, Wamba! how mean you by that? ” replied 
his companion. 

“ Marry, thus,” said the Jester. “ They make up a 
balanced account with Heaven, as our old cellarer 1 used to 
call his ciphering, as fair as Isaac the Jew keeps with his 
debtors, and, like him, give out a very little, and take large 
credit for doing so; reckoning, doubtless, on their own 
behalf the sevenfold usury which the blessed text 2 hath 
promised to charitable loans.” 

“ Give me an example of your meaning, Wamba, — I 
know nothing of ciphers or rates of usage,” answered the 
Knight. 

“ Why,” said Wamba, “ an your valour be so dull, you 
will please to learn that those honest fellows balance a 
good deed with one not quite so laudable; as a crown given 
to a begging friar with an hundred byzants taken from a 
fat abbot, or a wench kissed in the greenwood with the 
relief of a poor widow.” 

“ Which of these was the good deed, which was the 
felony? 99 interrupted the Knight. 

“A good gibe! a good gibe!” said Wamba; “ keeping 
witty company sharpeneth the apprehension. You said 
nothing so well, Sir Knight, I will be sworn, when you 
held drunken vespers with the bluff Hermit. — But to go 
on. The merry-men of the forest set off the building of 
a cottage with the burning of a castle, — the thatching of a 
choir against the robbing of a church, — the setting free a 
poor prisoner against the murder of a proud sheriff; or, to 
come nearer to our point, the deliverance of a Saxon frank- 
lin against the burning alive of a Norman baron. Gentle 
thieves they are, in short, and courteous robbers; but it is 
ever the luckiest to meet with them when they are at the 
worst ^ 

“ How so, Wamba? ” said the Knight. 

“ Why, then they have some compunction, and are for 
making up matters with Heaven. But when they have 
struck an even balance, Heaven help them with whom they 
1 The officer in charge of the wines. 2 Luke vi. 38. 

30 


466 


I VAN HOE 


next open the account ! The travellers who first met them 
after their good service at Torquilstone would have a woful 
flaying. — And yet,” said Wamba, coming close up to the 
Knight’s side, “ there be companions who are far more 
dangerous for travellers to meet than yonder outlaws.” 

“ And who may they be, for you have neither bears nor 
wolves, I trow ? ” said the Knight. 

“ Marry, sir, but we have Malvoisin’s men-at-arms,” said 
Wamba; “ and let me tell you, that in time of civil war a 
halfscore of these is worth a band of wolves at any time. 
They are now expecting their harvest, and are reinforced 
with the soldiers that escaped from Torquilstone. So that, 
should we meet with a band of them, we are like to pay for 
our feats of arms. — Kow, I pray you, Sir Knight, what 
would you do if we met two of them ? ” 

“ Pin the villains to the earth with my lance, Wamba, 
if they offered us any impediment.” 

“ But what if there were four of them? ” 

“ They should drink of the same cup,” answered the 
Knight. 

“ What if six,” continued Wamba, “ and we as we now 
are, barely two — would you not remember Locksley’s 
horn? ” 

“ What! sound for aid,” exclaimed the Knight, “ against 
a score of such rascaille as these, whom one good knight 
could drive before him, as the wind drives the withered 
leaves ? ” 

“ Kay, then,” said Wamba, “ I will pray you for a close 
sight of that same horn that hath so powerful a breath.” 

The Knight undid the clasp of the baldric, and indulged 
his fellow-traveller, who immediately hung the bugle round 
his own neck. 

“ Tra-lira-la,” said he, whistling the notes; “ nay, I 
know my gamut as well as another.” 

“ How mean you, knave?” said the Knight; “ restore 
me the bugle.” 

“ Content you, Sir Knight, it is in safe keeping. When 
Valour and Folly travel, Folly should bear the horn, be- 
cause she can blow the best.” 

“ Kay, but, rogue,” said the Black Knight, “ this exceed- 
eth thy license. Beware ye tamper not with my patience.” 

“ Urge me not with violence, Sir Knight,” said the 


IVANIIOE 


467 


Jester, keeping at a safe distance from the impatient cham- 
pion, “ or Folly will show a clean pair of heels, and leave 
Valour to find out his way through the wood as best he 
may.” 

“ Nay, thou hast hit me there,” said the Knight; “ and, 
sooth to say, I have little time to jangle with thee. Keep 
the horn an thou wilt, hut let us proceed on our journey.” 

“ You will not harm me, then? ” said Wamba. 

“ I tell thee no, thou knave! ” 

“ Ay, but pledge me your knightly word for it,” con- 
tinued Wamba, as he approached with great caution. 

“ My knightly word I pledge; only come on with thy 
foolish self.” 

“ Nay, then, Valour and Folly are once more boon com- 
panions,” said the Jester, coming up frankly to the 
Knight’s side; “ hut, in truth, I love not such buffets as 
that you bestowed on the burly Friar, when his holiness 
rolled on the green like a king of the nine-pins. And 
now that Folly wears the horn, let Valour rouse himself, 
and shake his mane; for, if I mistake not, there are com- 
pany in yonder brake that are on the look-out for us.” 

“What makes thee judge so?” said the Knight. 

“ Because I have twice or thrice noticed the glance of a 
morrion 1 from amongst the green leaves. Had they been 
honest men, they had kept the path. But yonder thicket 
is a choice chapel for the Clerks of Saint Nicholas.” 

“ By my faith,” said the Knight, closing his visor, “ I 
think thou be’st in the right on’t.” 

And in good time did he close it, for three arrows flew 
at the same instant from the suspected spot against his 
head and breast, one of which would have penetrated to 
the brain, had it not been turned aside by the steel visor. 
The other two were averted by the gorget, and by the 
shield which hung around his neck. 

“ Thanks, trusty armourer,” said the Knight . — ■“ Wam- 
ba, let us close with them,” — and he rode straight to the 
thicket. He was met by six or seven men-at-arms, who 
ran against him with their lances at full career. Three 
of the weapons struck against him, and splintered with as 
little elfect as if they had been driven against a tower of 
steel. The Black Knight’s eyes seemed to flash fire even 

1 A helmet. 


468 


I VAN HOE 


though the aperture of his visor. He raised himself in his 
stirrups with an air of inexpressible dignity, and exclaimed, 
“ What means this, my masters! ” — The men made no other 
reply than by drawing their swords and attacking him on 
every side, crying, “ Die, tyrant! 

“ Ha! Saint Edward! Ha! Saint George! 7 ’ said the 
Black Knight, striking down a man at every invocation; 
“ have we traitors here ? ” 

His opponents, desperate as they were, bore hack from 
an arm which carried death in every blow, and it seemed 
as if the terror of his single strength was about to gain 
the battle against such odds, when a knight, in blue ar- 
mour, who had hitherto kept himself behind the other 
assailants, spurred forward with his lance, and taking aim, 
not at the rider hut at the steed, wounded the noble animal 
mortally. 

“ That was a felon stroke ! 99 exclaimed the Black Knight, 
as the steed fell to the earth, hearing his rider along with 
him. 

And at this moment, Wamha winded the bugle, for the 
whole had passed so speedily that he had not time to do 
so sooner. The sudden sound made the murderers hear 
back once more, and Wamha, though so imperfectly weap- 
oned, did not hesitate to rush in and assist the Black 
Knight to rise. 

“ Shame on ye, false cowards ! 99 exclaimed he in the blue 
harness, who seemed to lead the assailants, “ do ye fly from 
the empty blast of a horn blown by a Jester? 99 

Animated by his words, they attacked the Black Knight 
anew, whose best refuge was now to place his hack 
against an oak, and defend himself with his sword. The 
felon knight, who had taken another spear, watching the 
moment when his formidable antagonist was most closely 
pressed, galloped against him in hopes to nail him with 
his lance against the tree, when his purpose was again 
intercepted by Wamha. The Jester, making up by agility 
the want of strength, and little noticed by the men-at- 
arms, who were busied in their more important object, 
hovered on the skirts of the fight, and effectually checked 
the fatal career of the Blue Knight, by hamstringing his 
horse with a stroke of his sword. Horse and man went to 
the ground; yet the situation of the Knight of the Fetter- 


IV AN HOE 


4G9 


lock continued very precarious, as he was pressed close by 
several men completely armed, and began to be fatigued 
by the violent exertions necessary to defend himself on so 
many points at nearly the same moment, when a grey- 
goose shaft suddenly stretched on the earth one of the 
most formidable of his assailants, and a band of yeomen 
broke forth from the glade, headed by Locksley and the 
jovial Friar, who, taking ready and effectual part in the 
fray, soon disposed of the ruffians, all of whom lay on the 
spot dead or mortally wounded. The Black Knight 
thanked his deliverers with a dignity they had not ob- 
served in his former bearing, which hitherto had seemed 
rather that of a blunt, bold soldier than of a person of 
exalted rank. 

“ It concerns me much/’ he said, “ even before I express 
my full gratitude to my ready friends, to discover, if I may, 
who have been my unprovoked enemies. — Open the visor 
of that Blue Knight, Wamba, who seems the chief of these 
villains.” 

The Jester instantly made up to the leader of the assas- 
sins, who, bruised by his fall, and entangled under the 
wounded steed, lay incapable either of flight or resistance. 

“ Come, valiant sir,” said Wamba, “ I must be your 
armourer as well as your equerry 1 — I have dismounted 
you, and now I will unhelm you.” 

So saying, with no very gentle hand he undid the helmet 
of the Blue Knight, which, rolling to a distance on the 
grass, displayed to the Knight of the Fetterlock grizzled 
locks, and a countenance he did not expect to have seen 
under such circumstances. 

“ Waldemar Fitzurse! ” he said in astonishment; “what 
could urge one of thy rank and seeming worth to so foul 
an undertaking? ” 

“ Bichard,” said the captive Knight, looking up to him, 
“ thou knowest little of mankind, if thou knowest not to 
what ambition and revenge can lead every child of Adam.” 

“Revenge?” answered the Black Knight; “I never 
wronged thee — on me thou hast nought to revenge.” 

“ My daughter, Richard, whose alliance thou didst scorn 
— was that no injury to a Norman, whose blood is noble as 
thine own ? ” 

1 The mounted servant who assisted a knight. 


470 


1VANIIOE 


“ Thy daughter? ” replied the Black Knight; “ a proper 
cause of enmity, and followed up to a bloody issue! — Stand 
hack, my masters, I would speak to him alone. — And now, 
Waldemar Fitzurse, say me the truth — confess who set thee 
on this traitorous deed.'’ 

te Thy father’s son,” answered Waldemar, “ who, in so 
doing, did but avenge on thee thy disobedience to thy 
father.” 

Richard’s eyes sparkled with indignation, hut his better 
nature overcame it. He pressed his hand against his brow, 
and remained an instant gazing on the face of the humbled 
baron, in whose features pride was contending with shame. 

“ Thou dost not ask thy life, Waldemar,” said the King. 

“ He that is in the lion’s clutch,” answered Fitzurse, 
“ knows it were needless.” 

“ Take it, then, unasked,” said Richard; “ the lion preys 
not on prostrate carcasses. — Take thy life, but with this 
condition, that in three days thou shalt leave England, and 
go to hide thy infamy in thy Norman castle, and that thou 
wilt never mention the name of John of Anjou as con- 
nected with thy felony. If thou art found on English 
ground after the space I have allotted thee, thou diest — or 
if thou breathest aught that can attaint the honour of my 
house, by Saint George! not the altar itself shall be a sanc- 
tuary. I will hang thee out to feed the ravens, from the 
very pinnacle of thine own castle. — Let this knight have 
a steed, Locksley, for I see your yeomen have caught those 
which were running loose, and let him depart unharmed.” 

“ But that I judge I listen to a voice whose behests 
must not be disputed,” answered the yeoman, “ I would 
send a shaft after the skulking villain that should spare 
him the labour of a long journey.” 

“ Thou bearest an English heart, Locksley,” said the 
Black Knight, “ and well dost judge thou art the more 
bound to obey my behest — I am Richard of England! ” 

At these words, pronounced in a tone of majesty suited 
to the high rank and no less distinguished character of 
Coeur-de-Lion, the yeomen at once kneeled down before 
him, and at the same time tendered their allegiance, and 
implored pardon for their offences. 

“ Rise, my friends,” said Richard, in a gracious tone, 
looking on them with a countenance in which his habitual 


1 VANIK) E 


m 


good-humour had already conquered the blaze of hasty re- 
sentment, and whose features retained no mark of the late 
desperate conflict, excepting the flush arising from exer- 
tion. “ Arise/’ he said, “ my friends! Your misdemean- 
ours, whether in forest or field, have been atoned by the 
loyal services you rendered my distressed subjects before 
the walls of Torquilstone, and the rescue you have this day 
afforded to your sovereign. Arise, my liegemen, and be 
good subjects in future. — And thou, brave Locksley ” 

“ Call me no longer Locksley, my Liege, hut know me 
under the name which, I fear, fame hath blown too widely 
not to have reached even your royal ears — I am Robin 
Hood of Sherwood Forest.” * 

u King of Outlaws and Prince of good fellows! ” said 
the King; “ who hath not heard a name that has been 
borne as far as Palestine? But be assured, brave Outlaw, 
that no deed done in our absence, and in the turbulent 
times to which it hath given rise, shall he remembered to 
thy disadvantage.” 

“ True says the proverb,” said Wamba, interposing his 
word, but with some abatement of his usual petulance, — 

‘ When the cat is away, 

The mice will play.’” 

“What, Wamba, art thou there?” said Richard; “I 
have been so long of hearing thy voice, I thought thou 
hadst taken flight.” 

“ I take flight! ” said Wamba; “ when do you ever find 
Folly separated from Valour? There lies the trophy of 
my sword, that good grey gelding, whom I heartily wish 
upon his legs again, conditioning 1 his master lay there 
houghed 2 in his place. It is true, I gave a little gtound 
at first, for a motley jacket does not brook 3 lance-head's, 
as a steel doublet will. But if I fought not at sword’s 
point, you will grant me that I sounded the onset.” 

“ And to good purpose, honest Wamba,” replied the 
King. “ Thy good service shall not he forgotten.” 

* From the ballads of Robin Hood, we learn that this celebrated 
outlaw, when in disguise, sometimes assumed the name of Locksley, 
from a village where he was born, but where situated we are not 
distinctly told. [Scott.] 

1 Upon the condition that. 2 Hamstrung. 3 Endure. 


m 


1VANH0E 


“Conftteor! 1 Confiteor /” exclaimed, in a submissive 
tone, a voice near the King’s side — “ my Latin will carry 
me no farther — but I confess my deadty treason, and pray 
leave to have absolution before I am led to execution! ” 

Richard looked around, and beheld the jovial Friar on 
his knees, telling his rosary, while his quarter-staff, which 
had not been idle during the skirmish, lay on the grass 
beside him. His countenance was gathered so as he 
thought might best express the most profound contrition, 
his eyes being turned up, and the corners of his mouth 
drawn down, as Wamba expressed it, like the tassels at the 
mouth of a purse. Yet this demure affectation of extreme 
penitence was whimsically belied by a ludicrous meaning 
which lurked in his huge features, and seemed to pro- 
nounce his fear and repentance alike hypocritical. 

“ For what art thou cast down, mad Priest ? ” said Rich- 
ard; “ art thou afraid thy diocesan should learn how truly 
thou dost serve Our Lady and Saint Dunstan? — Tush, 
man! fear it not; Richard of England betrays no secrets 
that pass over the flagon.” 

“ Kay, most gracious sovereign,” answered the Hermit, 
(well known to the curious in penny-histories 2 of Robin 
Hood by the name of Friar Tuck,) “ it is not the crosier 3 
I fear, but the sceptre. 4 — Alas! that my sacrilegious fist 
should ever have been applied to the ear of the Lord’s 
anointed! ” 

“ Ha ! ha ! ” said Richard, “ sits the wind there ? — In 
truth I had forgotten the buffet, though mine ear sung 
after it for a whole day. But if the cuff was fairly given, 
I will be judged by the good men around, if it was not as 
well repaid — or, if thou thinkest I still owe thee aught, 
and will stand forth for another counterbuff ” 

“ By no means,” replied Friar Tuck, “ I had mine own 
returned, and with usury — may your Majesty ever pay your 
debts as fully ! ” 

“ If I could do so with cuffs,” said the King, “ my 
creditors should have little reason to complain of an empty 
exchequer.” 

1 “ I confess ! ” 

2 Popular stories and ballads, sold for a penny. 

3 A bishop’s staff of office. 

4 Pie fears the king, and not the bishop. 


1VANH0E 


473 


“ And yet,” said the Friar, resuming his demure, hypo- 
critical countenance, “ I know not what penance I ought 
to perform for that most sacrilegious blow! ■” 

“ Speak no more of it, brother,” said the King; “ after 
having stood so many cuffs from Paynims and misbelievers, 
I were void of reason to quarrel with the buffet of a clerk 
so holy as he of Copmanhurst. Yet, mine honest Friar, I 
think it would he best both for the church and thyself, that 
I should procure a license to unfrock thee, and retain thee 
as a yeoman of our guard, serving in care of our person, 
as formerly in attendance upon the altar of Saint Dunstan.” 

“ My Liege,” said the Friar, “ I humbly crave your par- 
don; and you would readily grant my excuse, did you but 
know how the sin of laziness has beset me. Saint Dunstan 
— may he be gracious to us! — stands quiet in his niche, 
though I should forget my orisons in killing a fat buck— 
I stay out of my cell sometimes a night, doing I wot not 
what — Saint Dunstan never complains — a quiet master he 
is, and a peaceful, as ever was made of wood. — But to be a 
yeoman in attendance on my sovereign the King — the 
honour is great, doubtless — yet, if I were hut to step aside 
to comfort a widow in one corner, or to kill a deer in an- 
other, it would be, e Where is the dog Priest? ? says one. 
‘ Who has seen the accursed Tuck ? 9 says another. ‘ The 
unfrocked villain destroys more venison than half the 
country besides/ says one keeper; And is hunting after 
every shy doe in the country ! 9 quoth a second. — In fine, 
good my Liege, I pray you to leave me as you found me; 
or, if in aught you desire to extend your benevolence to 
me, that I may he considered as the poor Clerk of Saint 
Dunstan’s cell in Copmanhurst, to whom any small dona- 
tion will he most thankfully acceptable.” 

“I understand thee,” said the King, “and the Holy 
Clerk shall have a grant of vert and venison 1 in my woods 
of Warncliffe. Mark, however, I will but assign thee three 
bucks every season; but if that do not prove an apology for 
thy slaying thirty, I am no Christian knight nor true king.” 

“ Your Grace may be well assured,” said the Friar, 
“ that, with the grace of Saint Dunstan, I shall find the 
way of multiplying your most bounteous gift.” 

“ I nothing doubt it, good brother,” said the King; 

1 The forest trees and the game beneath them. 


474 


1VANII0E 


“ and as venison is but dry food, our cellarer shall have 
orders to deliver to thee a butt of sack, a runlet of Mal- 
voisie, and three hogsheads of ale of the first strike, 1 yearly. 
If that will not quench thy thirst, thou must come to 
court, and become acquainted with my butler.” 

“ But for Saint Dunstan? ” said the Friar 

“ A cope, 2 a stole, 3 and an altar-cloth shalt thou also 
have,” continued the King, crossing himself — “ but we 
may not turn our game into earnest, lest God punish us 
for thinking more on our follies than on his honour and 
worship.” 

“ I will answer for my patron,” said the Priest, joyously. 

“ Answer for thyself, Friar,” said King Richard, some- 
thing sternly; but immediately stretching out his hand 
to the Hermit, the latter, somewhat abashed, bent his 
knee, and saluted it. “ Thou dost less honour to my ex- 
tended palm than to my clenched fist,” said the Monarch; 
“ thou didst only kneel to the one, and to the other didst 
prostrate thyself.” 

But the Friar, afraid perhaps of again giving offence by 
continuing the conversation in too jocose a style — a false 
step to he particularly guarded against by those who con- 
verse with monarchs 4 — bowed profoundly, and fell into 
the rear. 

At the same time, two additional personages appeared on 
the scene. 

1 Quality. 

2 The large mantle worn by priests and bishops over the surplice. 

3 An ecclesiastical vestment, consisting of a strip of silk worn over 
the shoulders and hanging down to the knees. 

4 Scott had met on intimate terms the Prince Regent (later George 
IV), who was as fond of a jest as Richard I. 

[Note, as before, how the forest scene gives relief from the high 
tension of the previous chapter. The variety and unforced humour 
and dramatic situations in this chapter can scarcely be praised too 
highly. Review the successive hints that have been given as to the 
real personality of the Black Knight and Locksley. Bo they 
enhance the reader’s pleasure in the scene when the disguises are 
finally thrown off ? Observe the skill with which the Robin Hood 
legends and the actual traits of Richard I have here been mingled.] 


CHAPTER XLI 


All hail to the lordlings of high degree, 

Who live not more happy, though greater than we ! 

Our pastimes to see 
Under every green tree, 

In all the gay woodland, right welcome ye be. 

Macdonald. 

4 

The new comers were Wilfred of Ivanhoe, on the Prior 
of Botolph’s palfrey, and Gurth, who attended him, on the 
Ivnight’s own war-horse. The astonishment of Ivanhoe 
was beyond hounds when he saw his master besprinkled 
with blood, and six or seven dead bodies lying around in 
the little glade in which the battle had taken place. Nor 
was he less surprised to see Richard surrounded by so many 
silvan attendants, the outlaws, as they seemed to be, of the 
forest, and a perilous retinue therefore for a prince. He 
hesitated whether to address the King as the Black Knight- 
errant, or in what other manner to demean himself towards 
him. Richard saw his embarrassment. 

“ Fear not, Wilfred,” he said, “ to address Richard Plan- 
tagenet 1 as himself, since thou seest him in the company 
of true English hearts, although it may be they have been 
urged a few steps aside by warm English blood.” 

“ Sir Wilfred of Ivanhoe,” said the gallant Outlaw, 
stepping forward, “ my assurances can add nothing to 
those of our sovereign; yet, let me say somewhat proudly 
that, of men who have suffered much, he hath not truer 
subjects than those who now stand around him.” 

“ I cannot doubt it, brave man,” said Wilfred, “ since 
thou art of the number. But what mean these marks of 
death and danger? these slain men, and the bloody armour 
of my Prince ? ” 

“ Treason hath been with us, Ivanhoe,” said the King; 

1 The name by which the House of Anjou is familiarly known, 
originating in the Latin name of the broom plant (planta genistce), 
a favourite flower of Geoffrey of Anjou, the father of Henry II of 
England. 


476 


IV AN HOE 


“but thanks to these brave men, treason hath met its 
meed . 1 But, now I bethink me, thou too art a traitor,” 
said Richard, smiling, “ a most disobedient traitor; for were 
not our orders positive, that thou shouldst repose thyself 
at Saint Botolph’s until thy wound was healed? ” 

“ It is healed,” said Ivanhoe; “ it is not of more conse- 
quence than the scratch of a bodkin. But why, oh why, 
noble Prince, will you thus vex the hearts of your faithful 
servants, and expose your life by lonely journeys and rash 
adventures, as if it were of no more value than that of a 
mere knight-errant, who has no interest on earth but what 
lance and sword may procure him? ” 

“ And Richard Plantagenet,” said the King, “ desires 
no more fame than his good lance and sword may acquire 
him — and Richard Plantagenet is prouder of achieving an 
adventure, with only his good sword, and his good arm to 
speed, than if he led to battle an host of an hundred thou- 
sand armed men.” 

“ But your kingdom, my Liege,” said Ivanhoe, “ your 
kingdom is threatened with dissolution and civil war — your 
subjects menaced with every species of evil, if deprived of 
their sovereign in some of those dangers which it is your 
daily pleasure to incur, and from which you have but this 
moment narrowly escaped.” 

“Ho! ho! my kingdom and my subjects?” answered 
Richard, impatiently; “ I tell thee, Sir Wilfred, the best 
of them are most willing to repay my follies in kind. For 
example, my very faithful servant, Wilfred of Ivanhoe, will 
not obey my positive commands, and yet reads his king a 
homily, because he does not walk exactly by his advice. 
Which of us has most reason to upbraid the other? — Yet 
forgive me, my faithful Wilfred. The time I have spent, 
and am yet to spend in concealment, is, as I explained to 
thee at Saint Botolph’s, necessary to give my friends and 
faithful nobles time to assemble their forces, that when 
Richard’s return is announced he should be at the head 
of such a force as enemies shall tremble to face, and thus 
subdue the meditated treason, without even unsheathing 
a sword. Estoteville and Bohun 2 will not be strong 

1 Reward. 

2 The reference is probably to Henry Bohun (1176-1220), Earl of 
Hereford, and Constable of England in 1199. He married a daughter 


I VAN HOE 


47 ? 


enough to move forward to York for twenty-four hours. 
I must have news of Salisbury 1 from the south; and of 
Beauchamp 1 in Warwickshire; and of Mutton 2 and Percy 1 
in the north. The Chancellor must make sure of London. 
Too sudden an appearance would subject me to dangers, 
other than my lance and sword, though backed by the bow 
of hold Robin or the quarter-staff of Friar Tuck, and the 
horn of the sage Wamba, may he able to rescue me from.” 

Wilfred bowed in submission, well knowing how vain it 
was to contend with the wild spirit of chivalry which so 
often impelled his master upon dangers which he might 
easily have avoided, or rather, which it was unpardonable 
in him to have sought out. The young knight sighed, 
therefore, and held his peace; while Richard, rejoiced at 
having silenced his counsellor, though his heart acknowl- 
edged the justice of the charge he had brought against 
him, went on in conversation with Robin Hood . — “ King 
of Outlaws,” he said, “ have you no refreshment to offer 
to your brother sovereign? for these dead knaves have 
found me both in exercise and appetite.” 

“ In troth,” replied the Outlaw, “ for I scorn to lie to 

your Grace, our larder is chiefly supplied with ” He 

stopped, and was somewhat embarrassed. 

“ With venison, I suppose? ” said Richard gaily; “ better 
food at need there can he none — and truly, if a king will 
not remain at home and slay his own game, methinks he 
should not brawl too loud if he finds it killed to his hand.” 

“ If your Grace, then,” said Robin, “ will again honour 
with your presence one of Robin Hood’s places of rendez- 
vous, the venison shall not be lacking; and a stoup of ale, 
and it may be a cup of reasonably good wine, to relish it 
withal.” 

The Outlaw accordingly led the way, followed by the 
buxom Monarch, more happy, probably, in this chance 
meeting with Robin Hood and his foresters than he would 
have been in again assuming his royal state and presiding 
over a splendid circle of peers and nobles. Novelty in 
society and adventure were the zest of life to Richard 

of the Earl of Essex, and his son had that title, but Henry Bohun 
does not appear to have borne it himself. 

1 Scott here uses well-known names of a later period. 

2 See note in Chapter v. 


478 


1VANH0E 


Coeur-de-Lion, and it had its highest relish when enhanced 
by dangers encountered and surmounted. In the lion- 
hearted King, the brilliant but useless character of a 
knight of romance was in a great measure realized and 
revived; and the personal glory which he acquired by his 
own deeds of arms was far more dear to his excited imag- 
ination than that which a course of policy and wisdom 
would have spread around his government. Accordingly, 
his reign was like the course of a brilliant and rapid me- 
teor, which shoots along the face of Heaven, shedding 
around an unnecessary and portentous light, which is in- 
stantly swallowed up by universal darkness; his feats of 
chivalry furnishing themes for bards and minstrels, but 
affording none of those solid benefits to his country on 
which history loves to pause, and hold up as an example 
to posterity. But in his present company Richard showed 
to the greatest imaginable advantage. He was gay, good- 
humoured, and fond of manhood in every rank of life. 

Beneath a huge oak-tree the silvan repast was hastily 
prepared for the King of England, surrounded by men 
outlaws to his government, but who now formed his court 
and his guard. As the flagon went round, the rough for- 
esters soon lost their awe for the presence of Majesty. The 
song and the jest were exchanged — the stories of former 
deeds were told with advantage; and at length, and while 
boasting of their successful infraction of the laws, no one 
recollected they were speaking in presence of their natural 
guardian. The merry King, nothing heeding his dignity 
any more than his company, laughed, quaffed, and jested 
among the jolly band. The natural and rough sense of 
Robin Hood led him to be desirous that the scene should 
be closed ere any thing should occur to disturb its har- 
mony, the more especially that he observed Ivanhoe’s brow 
clouded with anxiety. “ We are honoured,” he said to 
Ivanhoe, apart, “ by the presence of our gallant Sovereign; 
yet I would not that he dallied with time which the cir- 
cumstances of his kingdom may render precious.” 

“ It is well and wisely spoken, brave Robin Hood,” said 
Wilfred, apart; “ and know, moreover, that they who jest 
with Majesty, even in its gayest mood, are but toying with 
the lion’s whelp, which, on slight provocation, uses both 
fangs and claws.” 


IV AN HOE 


479 


“ You have touched the very cause of my fear,” said the 
Outlaw; “ my men are rough by practice and nature, the 
King is hasty as well as good-humoured; nor know I how 
soon cause of offence may arise, or how warmly it may be 
received — it is time this revel were broken off.” 

“It must be by your management then, gallant yeoman,” 
said Ivanhoe; “ for each hint I have essayed to give him 
serves only to induce him to prolong it.” 

“ Must I so soon risk the pardon and favour of my Sove- 
reign?” said Robin Hood, pausing for an instant; “but, 
by Saint Christopher, it shall be so. I were undeserving 
his grace did I not peril it for his good. — Here, Scathlock, 
get thee behind yonder thicket, and wind me a Norman 
blast on thy bugle, and without an instant’s delay on peril 
of your life.” 

Scathlock obeyed his captain, and in less than five min- 
utes the revellers were startled by the sound of his horn. 

“ It is the bugle of Malvoisin,” said the Miller, starting 
to his feet and seizing his bow. The Friar dropped the 
flagon, and grasped his quarter-staff. Wamba stopt short 
in the midst of a jest, and betook himself to sword and 
target. All the others stood to their weapons. 

Men of their precarious course of life change readily 
from the banquet to the battle; and to Richard, the ex- 
change seemed but a succession of pleasure. He called for 
his helmet and the most cumbrous parts of his armour, 
which he had laid aside; and while Gurth was putting 
them on, he laid his strict injunctions on Wilfred, under 
pain of his highest displeasure, not to engage in the skir- 
mish which he supposed was approaching. 

“ Thou hast fought for me an hundred times, Wilfred, 
— and I have seen it. Thou shalt this day look on, and 
see how Richard will fight for his friend and liegeman.” 

In the meantime, Robin Hood had sent off several of his 
followers in different directions, as if to reconnoitre the 
enemy; and when he saw the company effectually broken 
up, he approached Richard, who was now completely 
armed, and kneeling down on one knee, craved pardon of 
his Sovereign. 

“For what, good yeoman?” said Richard, somewhat 
impatiently. “ Have we not already granted thee a full 
pardon for all transgressions? Thinkest thou our word is 


480 


IV AN HOE 


a feather, to he blown backward and forward between us? 
Thou canst not have bad time to commit any new offence 
since that time ? ” 

“ Ay, but I have, though/’ answered the yeoman, “ if it 
he an offence to deceive my prince for his own advantage. 
The bugle you have heard was none of Malvoisin’s, but 
blown by my direction, to break off the banquet, lest it 
trenched upon hours of dearer import than to be thus 
dallied with.” 

He then rose from his knee, folded his arms on his 
bosom, and in a manner rather respectful than submissive 
awaited the answer of the King, — like one who is conscious 
he may have given offence, yet is confident in the rectitude 
of his motive. The blood rushed in anger to the counte- 
nance of Eiehard; but it was the first transient emotion, 
and his sense of justice instantly subdued it. 

“ The King of Sherwood,” he said, “ grudges his veni- 
son and his wine-flask to the King of England? It is well, 
bold Eobin! — but when you come to see me in merry Lon- 
don, I trust to he a less niggard host. Thou art right, 
however, good fellow. Let us therefore to horse and away 
— Wilfred has been impatient this hour. Tell me, bold 
Eobin, hast thou never a friend in thy band, who, not con- 
tent with advising, will needs direct thy motions, and look 
miserable when thou dost presume to act for thyself? ” 

“ Such a one,” said Eobin, “ is my Lieutenant, Little 
John , 1 who is even now absent on an expedition as far as 
the borders of Scotland; and I will own to your Majesty 
that I am sometimes displeased by the freedom of his 
councils — but, when I think twice, I cannot be long angry 
with one who can have no motive for his anxiety save zeal 
for his master’s service.” 

“ Thou art right, good yeoman,” answered Eichard; 
“ and if I had Ivanhoe, on the one hand, to give grave 
advice, and recommend it by the sad gravity of his brow, 
and thee, on the other, to trick me into what thou thinkest 
my own good, I should have as little the freedom of mine 
own will as any king in Christendom or Heathenesse. — But 
come, sirs, let us merrily on to Coningsburgh, and think 
no more on’t.” 

Eobin Hood assured them that he had detached a party 
1 See the Robin Hood Ballads. 


IVAN HOE 


481 


in the direction of the road they were to pass, who would 
not fail to discover and apprize them of any secret ambus- 
cade; and that he had little doubt they would find the ways 
secure, or, if otherwise, would receive such timely notice 
of the danger as would enable them to fall hack on a strong 
troop of archers, with which he himself proposed to follow 
on the same route. 

The wise and attentive precautions adopted for his safety 
touched Richard’s feelings, and removed any slight grudge 
which he might retain on account of the deception the 
Outlaw Captain had practised upon him. He once more 
extended his hand to Robin Hood, assured him of his full 
pardon and future favour, as well as his firm resolution to 
restrain the tyrannical exercise of the forest rights and 
other oppressive laws by which so many English yeomen 
were driven into a state of rebellion. But Richard’s good 
intentions towards the bold Outlaw were frustrated by the 
King’s untimely death; and the Charter of the Forest 1 
was extorted from the unwilling hands of King J ohn when 
he succeeded to his heroic brother. As for the rest of 
Robin Hood’s career, as well as the tale of his treacherous 
death, they are to be found in those black-letter garlands , 2 
once sold at the low and easy rate of one halfpenny, 

“ Now cheaply purchased at their weight in gold.” 

The Outlaw’s opinion proved true; and the King, at- 
tended by Ivanhoe, Gurth, and Wamba, arrived, without 
any interruption, within view of the Castle of Conings- 
burgh while the sun was yet in the horizon. 

There are few more beautiful or striking scenes in Eng- 
land than are presented by the vicinity of this ancient 
Saxon fortress. The soft and gentle river Don sweeps 
through an amphitheatre in which cultivation is richly 
blended with woodland, and on a mount, ascending from 
the river, well defended by walls and ditches, rises this 

1 The real Charter of the Forest was a statute of 1297 (in the reign 
of Edward I), which restored lands that had been unlawfully taken 
by former kings for forests, and also affected the administration of 
the forest laws. 

2 A “ garland ” was a collection of ballads ; “black letter ” means 
in Old English type. 

31 


482 


IVANIIOE 


ancient edifice, whicli, as its Saxon name implies, was, pre- 
vious to the Conquest, a royal residence of the kings of 
England. The outer walls have probably been added by 
the Normans, but the inner keep bears token of very great 
antiquity. It is situated on a mount at one angle of the 
inner court, and forms a complete circle of perhaps twenty- 
five feet in diameter. The wall is of immense thickness, 
and is propped or defended by six huge external buttresses 
which project from the circle, and rise up against the sides 
of the tower as if to strengthen or to support it. These 
massive buttresses are solid when they arise from the foun- 
dation, and a good way higher up; but are hollowed out 
towards the top, and terminate in a sort of turrets com- 
municating with the interior of the keep itself. The 
distant appearance of this huge building, with these singu- 
lar accompaniments, is as interesting to the lovers of the 
picturesque as the interior of the castle is to the eager 
antiquary, whose imagination it carries back to the days 
of the heptarchy. A barrow , 1 in the vicinity of the castie, 
is pointed out as the tomb of the memorable Hengist; and 
various monuments of great antiquity and curiosity are 
shown in the neighbouring churchyard.* 

When Coeur-de-Lion and his retinue approached this 
rude yet stately building, it was not, as at present, sur- 
rounded by external fortifications. The Saxon architect 
had exhausted his art in rendering the main keep defen- 
sible, and there was no other circumvallation 2 than a rude 
barrier of palisades. 

A huge black banner, which floated from the top of the 
tower, announced that the obsequies of the late owner were 
still in the act of being solemnized. It bore no emblem of 
the deceased’s birth or quality, for armorial bearings were 
then a novelty among the Norman chivalry themselves, 
and were totally unknown to the Saxons. But above the 
gate was another banner, on which the figure of a white 
horse , 3 rudely painted, indicated the nation and rank of 

* Note H. Castle of Coningsburgh. 

1 Burial-mound. 

2 Rampart surrounding a city or camp. 

3 A rude figure of a gigantic horse, made by cutting away the turf 
from the chalk downs, is still to be seen at Wantage, Berkshire. 
There are others elsewhere in England. 


IVAN HOE 


483 


the deceased, by the well-known symbol of Hengist and 
his Saxon warriors. 

All around the castle was a scene of busy commotion; 
for such funeral banquets were times of general and pro- 
fuse hospitality, which not only every one who could claim 
the most distant connexion with the deceased, but all pas- 
sengers whatsoever, were invited to partake. The wealth 
and consequence of the deceased Athelstane < ccasioned 
this custom to be observed in the fullest extent. 

Numerous parties, therefore, were seen ascending and 
descending the hill on which the castle was situated; and 
when the King and his attendants entered the open and 
unguarded gates of the external barrier, the space within 
presented a scene not easily reconciled with the cause of 
the assemblage. In one place cooks were toiling to roast 
huge oxen and fat sheep; in another, hogsheads of ale 
were set abroach , 1 to be drained at the freedom of all 
comers. Groups of every description were to be seen de- 
vouring the food and swallowing the liquor thus abandoned 
to their descretion. The naked Saxon serf was drowning 
the sense of his half-year’s hunger and thirst in one day of 
gluttony and drunkenness — the more pampered burgess 2 
and guild-brother was eating his morsel with gust, or curi- 
ously criticising the quantity of the malt and. the skill of 
the brewer. Some few of the poorer Norman gentry might 
also be seen, distinguished by their shaven chins and short 
cloaks, and not less so by their keeping together, and look- 
ing with great scorn on the whole solemnity, even while 
condescending to avail themselves of the good cheer which 
was so liberally supplied. 

Mendicants were of course assembled by the score, to- 
gether with strolling soldiers returned from Palestine, 
(according to their own account at least,) pedlars were dis- 
plajdng their wares, travelling mechanics were enquiring 
after employment, and wandering palmers, hedge-priests, 
Saxon minstrels, and Welsh bards were muttering prayers, 
and extracting mistuned dirges from their harps, crowds, 
and rotes.* One sent forth the praises of Athelstane in a 

* The crowth, or crowd, was a species of violin. The rote a sort of 
guitar, or rather hurdy-gurdy, the strings of which were managed by 
a wheel, from which the instrument took its name. [Scott.] 

1 On tap. 8 Citizen of the borough, or town. 


484 


IV AN 110 E 


doleful panegyric; another, in a Saxon genealogical poem, 
rehearsed the uncouth and harsh names of his noble ances- 
try. Jesters and jugglers were not awanting, nor was the 
occasion of the assembly supposed to render the exercise of 
their profession indecorous or improper. Indeed, the ideas 
of the Saxons on these occasions were as natural as they 
were rude. If sorrow was thirsty, there was drink — if 
hungry, there was food — if it sunk down upon and sad- 
dened the heart, here were the means supplied of mirth, 
or at least of amusement. Nor did the assistants scorn to 
avail themselves of those means of consolation, although, 
every now and then, as if suddenly recollecting the cause 
which had brought them together, the men groaned in 
unison, while the females, of whom many were present, 
raised up their voices and shrieked for very woe. 

Such was the scene in the castle-yard at Coningsburgh 
when it was entered by Richard and his followers. The 
seneschal, or steward, deigned not to take notice of the 
groups of inferior guests who were perpetually entering 
and withdrawing, unless so far as was necessary to preserve 
order; nevertheless he was struck by the good mien of the 
Monarch and Ivanhoe, more especially as he imagined the 
features of the latter were familiar to him. Besides, the 
approach of two knights, for such their dress bespoke them, 
was a rare event at a Saxon solemnity, and could not but be 
regarded as a sort of honour to the deceased and his family. 
And in his sable dress, and holding in his hand his white 
wand of office, this important personage made way through 
the miscellaneous assemblage of guests, thus conducting 
Richard and Ivanhoe to the entrance of the tower. Gfurth 
and Wamba speedily found acquaintances in the court- 
yard, nor presumed to intrude tlieln selves any farther until 
their presence should be required. 

[In Scott’s analysis of Richard’s nature, and especially in the 
words, “the brilliant but useless character of a knight of romance,” 
observe how his shrewd Scotch judgment offsets his sentiment. It is 
in this capacity for alternate sympathy with both sides of a question 
that much of his power as a story-teller lies. See Julia Wedgwood’s 
Ethics and Literature, in the Contemporary Review, Jan., 1897]. 


CHAPTER XLII 


I find them winding of Marcello’s corpse. 

And there was such a solemn melody, 

’Twixt doleful songs, tears, and sad elegies, — 

Such as old grandames, watching by the dead, 

Are wont to outwear the night with. 

Old Play. 

The mode of entering the great tower of Coningsburgh 
Castle is very peculiar, and partakes of the rude simplicity 
of the early times in which it was erected. A flight of 
steps, so deep and narrow as to be almost precipitous, leads 
up to a low portal in the south side of the tower, by which 
the adventurous antiquary may still, or at least could a few 
years since, gain access to a small stair within the thickness 
of the main wall of the tower, which leads up to the third 
story of the building, — the two lower being dungeons or 
vaults, which neither receive air nor light, save by a square 
hole in the third story, with which they seem to have com- 
municated by a ladder. The access to the upper apart- 
ments in the tower, which consist in all of four stories, is 
given by stairs which are carried up through the external 
buttresses. 

By this difficult and complicated entrance, the good 
King Richard, followed by his faithful Ivanhoe, was 
ushered into the round apartment which occupies the 
whole of the third story from the ground. Wilfred, by 
the difficulties of the ascent, gained time to muffle his face 
in his mantle, as it had been held expedient that he should 
not present himself to his father until the King should 
give him the signal. 

There were assembled in this apartment, around a large 
oaken table, about a dozen of the most distinguished repre- 
sentatives of the Saxon families in the adjacent counties. 
They were all old, or, at least, elderly men; for the younger 
race, to the great displeasure of the seniors, had, like Ivan- 
hoe, broken down many of the barriers which separated for 


486 


IV AN HOE 


half a century the Norman victors from the vanquished 
Saxons. The downcast and sorrowful looks of these ven- 
erable men, their silence and their mournful posture, 
formed a strong contrast to the levity of the revellers on 
the outside of the castle. Their grey locks and long, full 
beards, together with their antique tunics and loose black 
mantles, suited well with the singular and rude apartment 
in which they were seated, and gave the appearance of a 
hand of ancient worshippers of Woden, recalled to life to 
mourn over the decay of their national glory. 

Cedric, seated in equal rank among his countrymen, 
seemed yet, by common consent, to act as chief of the as- 
sembly. Upon the entrance of Richard (only known to 
him as the valorous Knight of the Fetterlock) he arose 
gravely, and gave him welcome by the ordinary salutation, 
Waes hael, raising at the same time a goblet to his head. 
The King, no stranger to the customs of his English sub- 
jects, returned the greeting with the appropriate words, 
Drink hael, and partook of a cup which was handed to him 
by the sewer. The same courtesy was offered to Ivanhoe, 
w 7 ho pledged his father in silence, supplying the usual 
speech by an inclination of his head, lest his voice should 
have been recognised. 

When this introductory ceremony was performed, Cedric 
arose, and, extending his hand to Richard, conducted him 
into a small and very rude chapel, which was excavated, as 
it were, out of one of the external buttresses. As there 
was no opening, saving a little narrow loop-hole, the place 
would have been nearly quite dark hut for two flambeaux, 
or torches, which showed, by a red and smoky light, the 
arched roof and naked walls, the rude altar of stone, and 
the crucifix of the same material. 

Before this altar was placed a bier, and on each side of 
this bier kneeled three priests, who told their beads and 
muttered their prayers, with the greatest signs of external 
devotion. For this service a splendid soul-scat was paid to 
the convent of Saint Edmund’s by the mother of the de- 
ceased; and, that it might he fully deserved, the whole 
brethren, saving the lame Sacristan, had transferred them- 
selves to Coningsburgh, where, while six of their number 
were constantly on guard in the performance of divine 
rites by the bier of Athelstane, the others failed not to 


I VAN HOE 


487 


take their share of the refreshments and amusements 
which went on at the castle. In maintaining this pious 
watch and ward, the good monks were particularly careful 
not to interrupt their hymns for an instant, lest Zerne- 
bock, the Ancient Saxon Apollyon, should lay his clutches 
on the departed Athelstane. Nor were they less careful 
to prevent any unhallowed layman from touching the pall, 
which, having been that used at the funeral of Saint 
Edmund, was liable to be desecrated if handled by the 
profane. If, in truth, these attentions could be of any use 
to the deceased, he had some right to expect them at the 
hands of the brethren of Saint Edmund’s, since, besides a 
hundred mancuses of gold paid down as the soul-ransom, 
the mother of Athelstane had announced her intention of 
endowing that foundation with the better part of the 
lands of the deceased, in order to maintain perpetual pray- 
ers for his soul and that of her departed husband. 

Richard and Wilfred followed the Saxon Cedric into the 
apartment of death, where, as their guide pointed with 
solemn air to the untimely bier of Athelstane, they fol- 
lowed his example in devoutly crossing themselves, and 
muttering a brief prayer for the weal of the departed soul. 

This act of pious charity performed, Cedric again mo- 
tioned them to follow him, gliding over the stone floor with 
a noiseless tread; and, after ascending a few steps, opened 
with great caution the door of a small oratory , 1 which ad- 
joined to the chapel. It was about eight feet square, 
hollowed, like the chapel itself, out of the thickness of the 
wall; and the loop-hole which enlightened it being to the 
west, and widening considerably as it sloped inward, a 
beam of the setting sun found its way into its dark recess, 
and showed a female of a dignified mien, and whose coun- 
tenance retained the marked remains of majestic beauty. 
Her long mourning robes and her flowing wimple 2 of 
black cypress 3 enhanced the whiteness of her skin, and the 
beauty of her light-coloured and flowing tresses, which 
time had neither thinned nor mingled with silver. Her 
countenance expressed the deepest sorrow that is consistent 
with resignation. On the stone table before her stood a 

J A room for prayer. 

2 A covering for the neck. 

3 Crape. 


488 


IVANHOE 


crucifix of ivory, beside which was laid a missal, having 
its pages richly illuminated, and its boards 1 adorned with 
clasps of gold, and bosses of the same precious metal. 

“ Noble Edith , 55 said Cedric, after having stood a mo- 
ment silent, as if to give Richard and Wilfred time to look 
upon the lady of the mansion, “ these are worthy strangers, 
come to take a part in thy sorrows. And this, in especial, 
is the valiant Knight who fought so bravely for the deliver- 
ance of him for whom we this day mourn . 55 

“ His bravery has my thanks / 5 returned the lady; “ al- 
though it be the will of Heaven that it should be displayed 
in vain. I thank, too, his courtesy, and that of his com- 
panion, which hath brought them hither to behold the 
widow of Adeling, the mother of Athelstane, in her deep 
hour of sorrow and lamentation. To your care, kind kins- 
man, I intrust them, satisfied that they will want no hos- 
pitality which these sad walls can yet afford . 55 

The guests bowed deeply to the mourning parent, and 
withdrew with their hospitable guide. 

Another winding stair conducted them to an apartment 
of the same size with that which they had first entered, 
occupying, indeed, the story immediately above. From this 
room, ere yet the door was opened, proceeded a low and 
melancholy strain of vocal music. When they entered, 
they found themselves in the presence of about twenty 
matrons and maidens of distinguished Saxon lineage. Four 
maidens, Rowena leading the choir, raised a hymn for the 
soul of the deceased, of which we have only been able to 
decipher two or three stanzas: — 

Dust unto dust, 

To this all must ; 

The tenant hath resign’d 
The faded form 
To waste and worm — 

Corruption claims her kind. 

Through paths unknown 
Thy soul hath flown, 

To seek the realms of woe, 

Where fiery pain 
Shall purge the stain 
Of actions done below. 


1 Covers. 


IV AN HOE 


489 


In that sad place, 

By Mary’s grace, 

Brief may thy dwelling be ! 

Till prayers and alms, 

And holy psalms, 

Shall set the captive free. 

While this dirge was sung, in a low and melancholy tone, 
by the female choristers, the others were divided into two 
bands, of which one was engaged in bedecking, with such 
embroidery as their skill and taste could compass, a large 
silken pall, destined to cover the bier of Athelstane, while 
the others busied themselves in selecting, from baskets of 
flowers placed before them, garlands, which they intended 
for the same mournful purpose. The behaviour of the 
maidens was decorous, if not marked with deep affliction; 
but now and then a whisper or a smile called forth the 
rebuke of the severer matrons, and here and there might 
be seen a damsel more interested in endeavouring to find 
out how her mourning-robe became her than in the dismal 
ceremony for which they were preparing. Neither was 
this propensity (if we must needs confess the truth) at all 
diminished by the appearance of two strange knights, 
which occasioned some looking up, peeping, and whisper- 
ing. Rowena alone, too proud to be vain, paid her greet- 
ing to her deliverer with a graceful courtesy. Her de- 
meanour was serious, but not dejected; and it may be 
doubted whether thoughts of Ivanhoe, and of the uncer- 
tainty of his fate, did not claim as great a share in her 
gravity as the death of her kinsman. 

To Cedric, however, who, as we have observed, was not 
remarkably clear-sighted on such occasions, the sorrow of 
his ward seemed so much deeper than any of the other 
maidens that he deemed it proper to whisper the explana- 
tion — “ She was the affianced bride of the noble Athel- 
stane. ?? — It may be doubted whether this communication 
went a far way to increase Wilfred’s disposition to sympa- 
thize with the mourners of Coningsburgh. 

Having thus formally introduced the guests to the dif- 
ferent chambers in which the obsequies of Athelstane were 
celebrated under different forms, Cedric conducted them 
into a small room, destined, as he informed them, for the 
exclusive accommodation of honourable guests whose more 
slight connexion with the deceased might render them un- 


490 


IVANIIOE 


willing to join those who were immediately affected by the 
unhappy event. He assured them of every accommoda- 
tion, and was about to withdraw when the Black Knight 
took his hand. 

“ I crave to remind you, noble Thane,” he said, “ that 
when we last parted you promised, for the service I had 
the fortune to render you, to grant me a boon.” 

“ It is granted ere named, noble Knight,” said Cedric; 
“ yet, at this sad moment ” 

“ Of that also,” said the King, “ I have bethought me — 
hut my time is brief — neither does it seem to me unfit 
that, when closing the grave on the noble Athelstane, 
we should deposit therein certain prejudices and hasty 
opinions.” 

“ Sir Knight of the Fetterlock,” said Cedric, colouring, 
and interrupting the King in his turn, “ I trust your boon 
regards yourself and no other; for in that which concerns 
the honour of my house, it is scarce fitting that a stranger 
should mingle.” 

“ Nor do I wish to mingle,” said the King, mildly, “ un- 
less in so far as you will admit me to have an interest. As 
yet you have known me hut as the Black Knight of the 
Fetterlock — know me now as Richard Plantagenet.” 

“ Richard of Anjou!” exclaimed Cedric, stepping back- 
ward with the utmost astonishment. 

“ No, noble Cedric — Richard of England! — whose deep- 
est interest — whose deepest wish, is to see her sons united 
with each other. — And, how now, worthy Thane! hast thou 
no knee for thy prince ? ” 

“ To Norman blood,” said Cedric, “it hath never 
bended.” 

“ Reserve thine homage, then,” said the Monarch, “ until 
I shall prove my right to it by my equal protection of Nor- 
mans and English.” 

“ Prince,” answered Cedric, “ I have ever done justice 
to thy bravery and thy worth — nor am I ignorant of thy 
claim to the crown through thy descent from Matilda , 1 
niece to Edgar Atheling , 1 and daughter to Malcolm of 
Scotland . 1 But Matilda, though of the royal Saxon blood, 
was not the heir to the monarchy.” 

1 Edgar Atheling was a grandson of Edmund Ironside, born 
about 1057. He was a feeble youth, and upon the death of Edward 


IVANHOE 


491 


“ I will not dispute my title with thee, noble Thane,” 
said Richard, calmly; “ but I will hid thee look around 
thee, and see where thou wilt find another to he put into 
the scale against it.” 

“ And hast thou wandered hither, Prince, to tell me so? ” 
said Cedric — “ to upbraid me with the ruin of my race, 
ere the grave has closed o’er the last scion of Saxon 
royalty ? ” — His countenance darkened as he spoke . — “ It 
was boldly — it was rashly done! ” 

“ Not so, by the holy rood! ” replied the King; “ it was 
done in the frank confidence which one brave man may 
repose in another, without a shadow of danger.” 

“ Thou sayest well, Sir King — for King I own thou art, 
and wilt be, despite of my feeble opposition. — I dare not 
take the only mode to prevent it, though thou hast placed 
the strong temptation within my reach! ” 

“ And now to my boon,” said the King, “ which I ask 
not with one jot the less confidence, that thou hast refused 
to acknowledge my lawful sovereignty. I require of thee, 
as a man of thy word, on pain of being held faithless, man- 
sworn , 1 and nidering* to forgive and receive to thy pater- 
nal affection the good knight, Wilfred of Ivanhoe. In this 
reconciliation thou wilt own I have an interest — the happi- 
ness of my friend, and the quelling of dissension among 
my faithful people.” 

“ And this is Wilfred! ” said Cedric, pointing to his son. 
“ My father! — my father! ” said Ivanhoe, prostrating 
himself at Cedric’s feet, “ grant me thy forgiveness! ” 

“ Thou hast it, my son,” said Cedric, raising him up. 
“ The son of Hereward knows how to keep his word, even 
when it has been passed to a Norman. But let me see 
thee use the dress and costume of thy English ancestry- 
no short cloaks, no gay bonnets, no fantastic plumage in 
my decent household. He that would be the son of 

the Confessor his claims to the English throne were passed over in 
favour of Harold, though after the battle of Hastings he was nominal 
king for a brief period. One of his sisters, Margaret, married 
Malcolm III of Scotland. Matilda (1080-1118) was the offspring of 
this marriage, and became the first wife of Henry I of England in 
1100. See Table of English Kings, and the note at the close of 
Chapter xxiii. 

* Infamous. [Scott.] 

J Perjured. 


492 


IV AN HOE 


Cedric must show himself of English ancestry. — Thou art 
about to speak,” he added, sternly, “ and I guess the topic. 
The Lady Rowena must complete two years’ mourning, as 
for a betrothed husband; all our Saxon ancestors would 
disown us were we to treat of a new union for her ere the 
grave of him she should have wedded — him, so much the 
most worthy of her hand by birth and ancestry — is yet 
closed. The ghost of Athelstane himself would hurst his 
bloody cerements, and stand before us to forbid such dis- 
honour to his memory.” 

It seemed as if Cedric’s words had raised a spectre; for 
scarce had he uttered them ere the door flew open, and 
Athelstane, arrayed in the garments of the grave, stood 
before them, pale, haggard, and like something arisen from 
the dead.* 

The effect of this apparition on the persons present was 
utterly appalling. Cedriq started hack as far as the wall of 
the apartment would permit, and, leaning against it as one 
unable to support himself, gazed on the figure of his friend 
with eyes that seemed fixed, and a mouth which he ap- 
peared incapable of shutting. Ivanhoe crossed himself, 
repeating prayers in Saxon, Latin, or Norman-French, as 
they occurred to his memory, while Richard alternately 
said, Benedicite , and swore, Mort de ma vie ! 1 

In the meantime, a horrible noise was heard below stairs, 
some crying, “ Secure the treacherous monks! ” — others, 
“ Down with them into the dungeon,” — others, “ Pitch 
them from the highest battlements! ” 

“ In the name of God!” said Cedric, addressing what 
seemed the spectre of his departed friend, “ if thou art 
mortal, speak! — if a departed spirit, say for what cause 
thou dost revisit us, or if I can do aught that can set thy 
spirit at repose.- Diving or dead, noble Athelstane, speak 
to Cedric! ” 

* The resuscitation of Athelstane has been much criticised, as too 
violent a breach of probability, even for a work of such fantastic char- 
acter. It was a tour-de-force to which the author was compelled to 
have recourse by the vehement entreaties of his friend and printer, 
[James Ballantyne,] who was inconsolable on the Saxon being con- 
veyed to the tomb. [Scott.] The Edinburgh Review (Jan., 4820), 
had called Athelstane’s resurrection the most extravagant and foolish 
of all the incidents of the book. Scott himself admitted that it was 
a mistake. 

1 “ Death of my life ! ” 


IVANHOE 


493 


“ I will/’ said the spectre, very composedly, “ when I 
have collected breath, and when you give me time. Alive, 
saidst thou?- I am as much alive as he can be who has fed 
on bread and water for three days, which seem three ages 
— yes, bread and water, Father Cedric! By Heaven, and 
all saints in it, better food hath not passed my weasand 1 
for three livelong days, and by God’s providence it is that 
I am now here to tell it.” 

“ Why, noble Athelstane,” said the Black Knight, “ I 
myself saw you struck down by the fierce Templar towards 
the end of the storm at Torquilstone, and as I thought, 
and Wamba reported, your skull was cloven through the 
teeth.” 

“ You thought amiss. Sir Knight,” said Athelstane, 
“ and Wamha lied. My teeth are in good order, and that 
my supper shall presently find — no thanks to the Templar, 
though, whose sword turned in his hand, so that the blade 
struck me flattings, being averted by the handle of the 
good mace with which I warded the blow; had my steel- 
cap been on, I had not valued it a rush, and had dealt him 
such a counter-huff as would have spoilt his retreat. But 
as it was, down I went, stunned, indeed, but unwounded. 
Others, of both sides, were beaten down and slaughtered 
above me, so that I never recovered my senses until I found 
myself in a coffin — (an open one, by good luck) — placed 
before the altar of the church of Saint Edmund’s. I 
sneezed repeatedly — groaned — awakened and would have 
arisen, when the Sacristan and Abbot, full of terror, came 
running at the noise, surprised, doubtless, and no way 
pleased to find the man alive, whose heirs they had pro- 
posed themselves to be. I asked for wine — they gave me 
some, but it must have been highly medicated, for I slept 
yet more deeply than before, and wakened not for many 
hours. I found my arms swathed down — my feet tied so 
fast that mine ankles ache at the very remembrance — the 
place was utterly dark — the oubliette , 2 as I suppose, of 
their accursed convent, and from the close, stifled, damp 
smell, I conceive it is also used for a place of sepulture. I 
had strange thoughts of what had befallen me, when the 

1 Windpipe. 

2 A dungeon ( oublier , to forget) where captives were left to per- 
petual imprisonment or secret death. 


494 


IV AN HOE 


door of my dungeon creaked, and two villain monks en- 
tered. They would have persuaded me I was in purgatory, 
but I knew too well the pursy, short-breathed voice of the 
Father Abbot. — Saint Jeremy 1 ! how different from that 
tone with which he used to ask me for another slice of the 
haunch! — the dog has feasted with me from Christmas to 
Twelfth-night.” 2 

“ Have patience, noble Athelstane,” said the King; 
“ take breath — tell your story at leisure — beshrew me, but 
such a tale is as well worth listening to as a romance.” 

“ Ay, but, by the rood of Bromeholm, there was no ro- 
mance in the matter! ” said Athelstane. — “ A barley loaf 
and a pitcher of water — that they gave me, the niggardly 
traitors, whom my father, and I myself, had enriched, 
when their best resources were the flitches of bacon and 
measures of corn out of which they wheedled poor serfs 
and bondsmen in exchange for their prayers — the nest of 
foul, ungrateful vipers — barley bread and ditch water to 
such a patron as I had been! I will smoke them out of 
their nest, though I be excommunicated! ” 

“ But in the name of Our Lady, noble Athelstane,” said 
Cedric, grasping the hand of his friend, “ how didst thou 
escape this imminent danger? — did their hearts relent?” 

“ Did their hearts relent!” echoed Athelstane. - “ Do 
rocks melt with the sun? I should have been there still, 
had not some stir in the Convent, which I find was their 
procession hitherward to eat my funeral feast, when they 
well knew how and where I had been buried alive, sum- 
moned the swarm out of their hive. I heard them droning 
out their death-psalms, little judging they were sung in 
respect for my soul by those who were thus famishing my 
body. They went, however, and I waited long for food — 
no wonder — the gouty Sacristan was even too busy with 
his own provender to mind mine. At length down he 
came, with an unstable step, and a strong flavour of wine 
and spices about his person. Good cheer had opened his 
heart, for he left me a nook of pasty and a flask of wine, 
instead of my former fare. I ate, drank, and was invigo- 
rated; when, to add to my good luck, the Sacristan, too 

1 St. Jerome (340-420), the celebrated Church Father. 

2 The feast of the Epiphany (in commemoration of the visit of the 
three wise men to the infant Jesus), held twelve days after Christmas. 


IVANHOE 


495 


totty to discharge his duty of turnkey fitly, locked the door 
beside the staple, so that it fell ajar. The light, the food, 
the wine, set my invention to work. The staple to which 
my chains were fixed was more rusted than I or the villain 
Abbot had supposed. Even iron could not remain without 
consuming in the damps of that infernal dungeon/’ 

“ Take breath, noble Athelstane,” said Richard, “ and 
partake of some refreshment, ere you proceed with a tale 
so dreadful.” 

“ Partake! ” quoth Athelstane; “I have been partaking 
five times to-day — and yet a morsel of that savoury ham 
were not altogether foreign to the matter; and I pray you, 
fair sir, to do me reason 1 in a cup of wine.” 

The guests,, though still agape with astonishment, 
pledged their resuscitated landlord, who thus proceeded 
in his story. He had, indeed, now many more auditors 
than those to whom it was commenced, for Edith, having 
given certain necessary orders for arranging matters within 
the castle, had followed the dead-alive up to the strangers’ 
apartment, attended by as many guests, male and female, 
as could squeeze into the small room, while others, crowd- 
ing the staircase, caught up an erroneous edition of the 
story, and transmitted it still more inaccurately to those 
beneath, who again sent it forth to the vulgar without, in 
a fashion totally irreconcilable to the real fact. Athel- 
stane, however, went on as follows, with the history of his 
escape : — 

“ Finding myself freed from the staple, I dragged myself 
up stairs as well as a man loaded with shackles, and emaci- 
ated with fasting, might; and after much groping about, I 
was at length directed, by the sound of a jolly roundelay, 
to the apartment where the worthy Sacristan, an it so 
please ye, was holding a devil’s mass with a huge beetle- 
browed, broad-shouldered brother of the grey-frock and 
cowl, who looked much more like a thief than a clergyman. 
I burst in upon them, and the fashion of my grave-clothes, 
as well as the clanking of my chains, made me more re- 
semble an inhabitant of the other world than of this. Both 
stood aghast; but when I knocked down the Sacristan with 
my fist, the other fellow, his pot-companion, fetched a 
blow at me with a huge quarter-staff.” 

1 Pledge me. 


496 


I VAN HOE 


“ This must be our Friar Tuck, for a count’s ransom/’ 
said Richard, looking at Ivanhoe. 

“ He may be the devil, an he will,” said Athelstane. 
“ Fortunately he missed the aim, and, on my approaching 
to grapple with him, took to his heels and ran for it. I 
failed not to set my own heels at liberty by means of the 
fetter-key, which hung amongst others at the sexton’s belt; 
and I had thoughts of beating out the knave’s brains with 
the bunch of keys, but gratitude for the nook of pasty and 
the flask of wine which the rascal had imparted to my cap- 
tivity came over my heart; so, with a brace of hearty kicks, 
I left him on the floor, pouched 1 some baked meat, and a 
leathern bottle of wine with which the two venerable 
brethren had been regaling, went to the stable, and found 
in a private stall mine own best palfrey, which, doubtless, 
had been set apart for the holy Father Abbot’s particular 
use. Hither I came with all the speed the beast could 
compass — man and mother’s son flying before me wherever 
I came, taking me for a spectre, the more especially as, to 
prevent my being recognised, I drew the corpse-hood over 
my face. I had not gained admittance into my own castle, 
had I not been supposed to be the attendant of a juggler 
who is making the people in the castle-yard very merry, 
considering they are assembled to celebrate their lord’s 
funeral — I say, the sewer thought I was dressed to bear a 
part in the tregetour’s 2 mummery, and so I got admission, 
and did but disclose myself to my mother, and eat a hasty 
morsel, ere I came in quest of you, my noble friend.” 

“ And you have found me,” said Cedric, “ ready to re- 
sume our brave projects of honour and liberty. I tell thee, 
never will dawn a morrow so auspicious as the next, for the 
deliverance of the noble Saxon race.” 

“ Talk not to me of delivering any one,” said Athelstane; 
“ it is well I am delivered myself. I am more intent on 
punishing that villain Abbot. He shall hang on the top 
of this Castle of Coningsburgh, in his cope and stole; and 
if the stairs be too strait to admit his fat carcass, I will 
have him craned up from without.” 

“ But, my son,” said Edith, “ consider his sacred office.” 

“ Consider my three days’ fast,” replied Athelstane; “ I 

1 Put away ; swallowed. 

2 J uggler’s. 


IV AN IIOE 


497 


will have their blood, every one of them. Front-de-Boeuf 
was burnt alive for a less matter, for he kept a good table 
for his prisoners, only put too much garlic in his last dish 
of pottage. But these hypocritical, ungrateful slaves, so 
often the self-invited flatterers at my hoard, who gave me 
neither pottage nor garlic, more or less, they die, by the 
soul of Hengist! ” 

“ But the Pope, my noble friend,” — said Cedric 

“ But the devil, my noble friend,” answered Athelstane; 
“they die, and no more of them. Were they the best 
monks upon earth, the world would go on without them.” 

“For shame, noble Athelstane,” said Cedric; “ forget 
such wretches in the career of glory which lies open before 
thee. Tell this Norman prince, Richard of Anjou, that, 
lion-hearted as he is, he shall not hold undisputed the 
throne of Alfred, while a male descendant of the Holy 
Confessor lives to dispute it.” 

“How!” said Athelstane; “is this the noble King 
Richard ? ” 

“ It is Richard Plantagenet himself,” said Cedric ; “ yet 
I need not remind thee that, coming hither a guest of free- 
will, he may neither be injured nor detained prisoner — 
thou well knowest thy duty to him as his host.” 

“ Ay, by my faith! ” said Athelstane; “ and my duty as 
a subject besides, for I here tender him my allegiance, 
heart and hand.” 

“ My son,” said Edith, “ think on thy royal rights! ” 

“Think on the freedom of England, degenerate Prince!” 
said Cedric. 

“ Mother and friend,” said Athelstane, “ a truce to your 
upbraidings — bread and water and a dungeon are marvel- 
lous mortifiers of ambition, and I rise from the tomb a 
wiser man than I descended into it. One half of those 
vain follies were puffed into mine ear by that perfidious 
Abbot Wolfram, and you may now judge if he is a coun- 
sellor to be trusted. Since these plots were set in agita- 
tion, I have had nothing but hurried journeys, indiges- 
tions, blows and bruises, imprisonments and starvation; 
besides that they can only end in the murder of some 
thousands of quiet folk. I tell you, I will be king in my 
own domains, and nowhere else; and my first act of do- 
minion shall be to hang the Abbot.” 

32 


498 


1VANH0E 


“ And my ward Rowena,” said Cedric — “ I trust you in- 
tend not to desert her? ” 

“ Father Cedric,” said Athelstane, “ be reasonable. The 
Lady Rowena cares not for me — she loves the little finger 
of my kinsman Wilfred’s glove better than my whole per- 
son. There she stands to avouch it. Nay, blush not, kins- 
woman, there is no shame in loving a courtly knight better 
than a country franklin — and do not laugh neither, Row- 
ena, for grave-clothes and a thin visage are, God knows, no 
matter of merriment. Nay, an thou wilt needs laugh, I 
will find thee a better jest. Give me thy hand, or rather 
lend it me, for I but ask it in the way of friendship. — 
Here, cousin Wilfred of Ivanhoe, in thy favour I renounce 
and abjure — Hey! by Saint Dunstan, our cousin Wil- 
fred hath vanished! — Yet, unless my eyes are still dazzled 
with the fasting I have undergone, I saw him stand there 
but even now.” 

All now looked around and enquired for Ivanhoe, hut 
he had vanished. It was at length discovered that a Jew 
had been to seek him; and that, after very brief confer- 
ence, he had called for Gurth and his armour, and had left 
the castle. 

“ Fair cousin,” said Athelstane to Rowena, “ could I 
think that this sudden disappearance of Ivanhoe was 
occasioned by other than the weightiest reason, I would 
myself resume ” 

But he had no sooner let go her hand, on first observing 
that Ivanhoe had disappeared, than Rowena, who had 
found her situation extremely embarrassing, had taken 
the first opportunity to escape from the apartment. 

“ Certainly,” quoth Athelstane, “ women are the least to 
be trusted of all animals, monks and abbots excepted. I 
am an infidel, if I expected not thanks from her, and per- 
haps a kiss to boot. These cursed grave-clothes have surely 
a spell on them, every one flies from me. — To you I turn, 
noble King Richard, with the vows of allegiance which, 
as a liege-subject ” 

But King Richard was gone also, and no one knew 
whither. At length it was learned that he had hastened 
to the courtyard, summoned to his presence the Jew who 
had spoken with Ivanhoe, and after a moment’s speech 
with him had called vehemently to horse, thrown himself 


IVANIIQE 


499 


upon a steed, compelled the Jew to mount another, and set 
off at a rate which, according to Wamba, rendered the old 
J ew’s neck not worth a penny’s purchase. 

“ By my halidome ! ” said Athelstane, “ it is certain that 
Zernebock hath possessed himself of my castle in my ab- 
sence. I return in my grave-clothes, a pledge restored 
from the very sepulchre, and every one I speak to vanishes 
as soon as they hear my voice! — But it skills 1 not talking 
of it. Come, my friends — such of you as are left, follow 
me to the banquet-hall, lest any more of us disappear — it 
is, I trust, as yet tolerably furnished, as becomes the obse- 
quies of an ancient Saxon noble; and should we tarry any 
longer, who knows but the devil may fly off with the 
supper? ” 

1 Avails. 

[Scott’s note on the raising of Athelstane is the best possible com- 
ment upon his happy-go-lucky methods in arranging his plot. He 
said himself that he always “pushed for the pleasantest road towards 
the end of a story.” As a whole, do you think he insists too much 
upon the gluttonous side of Athelstane’s nature for even the best 
comic effect ? ] 


CHAPTER XLIII 


Be Mowbray’s sins so heavy in his bosom, 

That they may break his foaming courser’s back, 

And throw the rider headlong in the lists, 

A caitiff recreant ! 

Richard II. 

Our scene now returns to the exterior of the Castle, or 
Preceptory, of Templestowe, about the hour when the 
bloody die was to be cast for the life or death of Rebecca. 
It was a scene of bustle and life, as if the whole vicinity 
had poured forth its inhabitants to a village wake, or r ( ural 
feast. But the earnest desire to look on blood and death 
is not peculiar to those dark ages; though, in the gladia- 
torial exercise of single combat and general tourney, they 
were habituated to the bloody spectacle of brave men fall- 
ing by each other’s hands. Even in our own days, when 
morals are better understood, an execution, a bruising 
match, a riot, or a meeting of radical reformers , 1 collects, 
at considerable hazard to themselves, immense crowds of 
spectators, otherwise little interested except to see how 
matters are to be conducted, or whether the heroes of the 
day are, in the heroic language of insurgent tailors, flints 2 
or dunghills . 3 

The eyes, therefore, of a very considerable multitude 
were bent on the gate of the Preceptory of Templestowe, 
with the purpose of witnessing the procession; while still 
greater numbers had already surrounded the tiltyard be- 
longing to that establishment. This enclosure was formed 
on a piece of level ground adjoining to the Preceptory, 
which had been levelled with care, for the exercise of mili- 

1 Scott was a stout Tory in politics, and never hesitated to express 
his dislike for the “reform movements” in England and Scotland 
during his later manhood. 

2 Good fellows. 

3 Boors. 


IVANIIOE 


501 


tary and chivalrous sports. It occupied the brow of a soft 
and gentle eminence, was carefully palisaded around, and, 
as the Templars willingly invited spectators to be witnesses 
of their skill in feats of chivalry, was amply supplied with 
galleries and benches for their use. 

On the present occasion, a throne was erected for the 
Grand Master at the east end, surrounded with seats of 
distinction for the Preceptors and Knights of the Order. 
Over these floated the sacred standard, called Le Beau- 
seant , which was the ensign, as its name was the battle-cry, 
of the Templars. 

At the opposite end of the lists was a pile of faggots, so 
arranged around a stake, deeply fixed in the ground, as to 
leave a space for the victim whom they were destined to 
consume, to enter within the fatal circle, in order to he 
chained to the stake by the fetters which hung ready for 
that purpose. Beside this deadly apparatus stood four 
black slaves, whose colour and African features, then so 
little known in England, appalled the multitude, who 
gazed on them as on demons employed about their own 
diabolical exercises. These men stirred not, excepting 
now and then, under the direction of one who seemed 
their chief, to shift and replace the ready fuel. They 
looked not on the multitude. In fact, they seemed insen- 
sible of their presence, and of every thing save the dis- 
charge of their own horrible duty. And when, in speech 
with each other, they expanded their blubber lips, and 
showed their white fangs, as if they grinned at the thoughts 
of the expected tragedy, the startled commons could 
scarcely help believing that they were actually the familiar 
spirits with whom the witch had communed, and who, her 
time being out, stood ready to assist in her dreadful punish- 
ment. They whispered to each other, and communicated 
all the feats which Satan had performed during that busy 
and unhappy period, not failing, of course, to give the 
devil rather more than his due. 

“ Have you not heard, Father Dennet,” quoth one boor 
to another advanced in years, “ that the devil has carried 
away bodily the great Saxon Thane, Athelstane of Conings- 
burgh ? ” 

“ Ay, but he brought him back though, by the blessing 
of God and Saint Dunstan.” 


502 


IV AN HOE 


"How’s that?” said a brisk young fellow, dressed in a 
green cassock embroidered with gold, and having at his 
heels a stout lad bearing a harp upon his back, which be- 
trayed his vocation. The Minstrel seemed of no vulgar 
rank; for, besides the splendour of his gayly broidered 
doublet, he wore around his neck a silver chain, by which 
hung the wrest, or key, with which he tuned his harp. On 
his right arm was a silver plate, which, instead of bearing, 
as usual, the cognizance or badge of the baron to whose 
family he belonged, had barely the word Sherwood en- 
graved upon it. — “ How mean you by that? ” said the gay 
Minstrel, mingling in the conversation of the peasants; " I 
came to seek one subject for my rhyme, and, byT Lady, I 
were glad to find two.” 

“ It is well avouched,” said the elder peasant, " that 
after Athelstane of Coningsburgh had been dead four 
weeks ” 

“ That is impossible,” said the Minstrel; “ I saw him in 
life at the Passage of Arms at Ashby-de-la-Zouche.” 

“ Dead, however, he was, or else translated,” said the 
younger peasant; “ for I heard the Monks of Saint Ed- 
mund’s singing the death’s hymn for him; and, moreover, 
there was a rich death-meal and dole 1 at the Castle of 
Coningsburgh, as right was; and thither had I gone, but 
for Mabel Parkins, who ” 

“ Ay, dead was Athelstane,” said the old man, shaking 
his head, “ and the more pity it was, for the old Saxon 
blood ” 

“ But your story, my masters — your story,” said the 
Minstrel, somewhat impatiently. 

“ Ay, ay — construe us the story,” said a burly Friar 
who stood beside them, leaning on a pole that exhibited 
an appearance between a pilgrim’s staff and a quarter-staff, 
and probably acted as either when occasion served. “ Your 
story,” said the stalwart churchman; “ burn not daylight 
about it — we have short time to spare.” 

“ An please your reverence,” said Dennet, “ a drunken 
priest came to visit the Sacristan at Saint Edmund’s ” 

“ It does not please my reverence,” answered the church- 
man, “ that there should be such an animal as a drunken 
priest, or, if there were, that a layman should so speak him. 

1 Alms, 


IVANHOE 


503 


Be mannerly, my friend, and conclude the holy man only 
wrapt in meditation, which makes the head dizzy and foot 
unsteady, as if the stomach were filled with new wine — I 
have felt it myself/’ 

“ Well, then,” answered Father Dennet, “ a holy brother 
came to visit the Sacristan at Saint Edmund’s — a sort of 
hedge-priest is the visitor, and kills half the deer that are 
stolen in the forest, who loves the tinkling of a pint-pot 
better than the sacring-bell, 1 and deems a flitch of bacon 
worth ten of his breviary; for the rest, a good fellow and 
a merry,, who will flourish a quarter-staff, draw a bow, and 
dance a Cheshire round, 2 with e’er a man in Yorkshire.” 

“ That last part of thy speech, Dennet,” said the Min- 
strel, “ has saved thee a rib or twain.” 

“ Tush, man, I fear him not,” said Dennet; “ I am some- 
what old and stiff, but when I fought for the bell and 
ram 3 at Doncaster ” 

“ But the story — the story, my friend,” again said the 
Minstrel. 

“ Why, the tale is but this — Athelstane of Coningsburgh 
was buried at Saint Edmund’s.” 

“ That’s a lie, and a loud one,” said the Friar, “ for I 
saw him borne to his own Castle of Coningsburgh.” 

“ Nay, then, e’en tell the story yourself, my masters,” 
said Dennet, turning sulky at these repeated contradic- 
tions; and it was with some difficulty that the boor could 
be prevailed on, by the request of his comrade and the 
Minstrel, to renew his tale . — “ These two sober friars,” 
said he at length, “ since this reverend man will needs 
have them such, had continued drinking good ale, and 
wine, and what not, for the best part of a summer’s day, 
when they were aroused by a deep groan, and a clanking of 
chains, and the figure of the deceased Athelstane entered 
the apartment, saying, ‘ Ye evil shepherds ’ ” 

“ It is false,” said the Friar hastily, “ he never spoke a 
word.” 

"So ho! Friar Tuck,” said the Minstrel, drawing him 
apart from the rustics; “ we have started a new hare, I 
find.” 


1 The bell used in the celebration of mass. 

2 A kind of round dance. 

3 The usual prizes at boxing and wrestling matches. 


504 


1VANHOE 


“ I tell thee, Allan-a-Dale,” said the Hermit, “ I saw 
Athelstane of Coningsburgh as much as bodily eyes ever 
saw a living man. He had his shroud on, and all about 
him smelt of the sepulchre — a butt of sack will not wash 
it out of my memory.” 

“ Pshaw!” answered the Minstrel; “ thou dost but jest 
with me! ” 

“ Never believe me,” said the Friar, “ an I fetched not 
a knock at him with my quarter-staff that would have 
felled an ox, and it glided through his body as it might 
through a pillar of smoke! ” 

“ By Saint Hubert,” said the Minstrel, “ but it is a won- 
drous tale, and fit to be put in metre to the ancient tune, 
‘ Sorrow came to the old Friar/ ” 

“ Laugh, if ye list,” said Friar Tuck; “ but an ye catch 
me singing on such a theme, may the next ghost or devil 
carry me off with him headlong! No, no — I instantly 
formed the purpose of assisting at some good work, such 
as the burning of a witch, a judicial combat, or the like 
matter of godly service, and therefore am I here.” 

As they thus conversed, the heavy bell of the church of 
Saint Michael of Templestowe, a venerable building situ- 
ated in a hamlet at some distance from the Preceptory, 
broke short their argument. One by one the sullen sounds 
fell successively on the ear, leaving but sufficient space for 
each to die away in distant echo, ere the air was again 
filled by repetition of the iron knell. These sounds, the 
signal of the approaching ceremony, chilled with awe the 
hearts of the assembled multitude, whose eyes were now 
turned to the Preceptory, expecting the approach of the 
Grand Master, the champion, and the criminal. 

At length the drawbridge fell, the gates opened, and a 
knight, bearing the great standard of the Order, sallied 
from the castle, preceded by six trumpets, and followed by 
the Knights Preceptors, two and two, the Grand Master 
coming last, mounted on a stately horse, whose furniture 
was of the simplest kind. Behind him came Brian de 
Bois-Guilbert, armed cap-a-pie in bright armour, but with- 
out his lance, shield, and sword, which were borne by his 
two esquires behind him. His face, though partly hidden 
by a long plume which floated down from his barret-cap , 1 
1 An ancient military cap, or head-piece. 


I VAN1 JOE 


505 


bore a strong and mingled expression of passion, in which 
pride seemed to contend with irresolution. He looked 
ghastly pale, as if he had not slept for several nights, yet 
reined his pawing war-horse with the habitual ease and 
grace proper to the best lance of the Order of the Temple. 
His general appearance was grand and commanding; but, 
looking at him with attention, men read that in his 
dark features from which they willingly withdrew their 
eyes. 

On either side rode Conrade of Mont-Fitchet and Albert 
de Malvoisin, who acted as godfathers to the champion. 
They were in their robes of peace, the white dress of the 
Order. Behind them followed other Companions of the 
Temple, with a long train of esquires and pages clad in 
black, aspirants to the honour of being one day Knights of 
the Order. After these neophytes came a guard of warders 
on foot, in the same sable livery, amidst whose partisans 
might be seen the pale form of the accused, moving with 
a slow but undismayed step towards the scene of her fate. 
She was stript of all her ornaments, lest perchance there 
should be among them some of those amulets which Satan 
was supposed to bestow upon his victims, to deprive them 
of the power of confession even when under the torture. 
A coarse white dress, of the simplest form, had been sub- 
stituted for her Oriental garments; yet there was such an 
exquisite mixture of courage and resignation in her look, 
that even in this garb, and with no other ornament than 
her long black tresses, each eye wept that looked upon her, 
and the most hardened bigot regretted the fate that had 
converted a creature so goodly into a vessel of wrath, and 
a waged slave of the devil. 

A crowd of inferior personages belonging to the Pre- 
ceptory followed the victim, all moving with the ut- 
most order, with arms folded, and looks bent upon the 
ground. 

This slow procession moved up the gentle eminence on 
the summit of which was the tiltyard, and, entering the 
lists, marched once around them from right to left, and 
when they had completed the circle, made a halt. There 
was then a momentary bustle, while the Grand Master and 
all his attendants, excepting the champion and his god- 
fathers, dismounted from their horses, which were immedi- 


506 


1VANHOE 


ately removed out of the lists by the esquires, who were in 
attendance for that purpose. 

The unfortunate .Rebecca was conducted to the black 
chair placed near the pile. On her first glance at the ter- 
rible spot where preparations were making for a death alike 
dismaying to the mind and painful to the body, she was 
observed to shudder and shut her eyes, praying internally 
doubtless, for her lips moved though no speech was heard. 
In the space of a minute she opened her eyes, looked fix- 
edly on the pile as if to familiarize her mind with the 
object, and then slowly and naturally turned away her 
head. 

Meanwhile, the Grand Master had assumed his seat; and 
when the chivalry of his order was placed around and 
behind him, each in his due rank, a loud and long flour- 
ish of the trumpets announced that the Court were seated 
for judgment. Malvoisin, then, acting as godfather of 
the champion, stepped forward, and laid the glove of the 
Jewess, which was the pledge of battle, at the feet of the 
Grand Master. 

“Valourous Lord and reverend Father,” said he, “ here 
standeth the good Knight, Brian de Bois-Guilbert, Knight 
Preceptor of the Order of the Temple, who, by accepting 
the pledge of battle which I now lay at your reverence’s 
feet, hath become bound to do his devoir in combat this 
day to maintain that this Jewish maiden, by name Re- 
becca, hath justly deserved the doom passed upon her in 
a Chapter of this most Holy Order of the Temple of Zion, 
condemning her to die as a sorceress; — here, I say, he 
standeth, such battle to do, knightly and honourable, if 
such be your noble and sanctified pleasure.” 

“ Hath he made oath,” said the Grand Master, “ that 
his quarrel is just and honourable? Bring forward the 
Crucifix and the Te igitur .” 1 

“ Sir, and most reverend father,” answered Malvoisin, 
readily, “ our brother here present hath already sworn to 
the truth of his accusation in the hand of the good Knight 
Conrade de Mont-Fitchet; and otherwise he ought not to 
be sworn, seeing that his adversary is an unbeliever, and 
may take no oath.” 

1 “ Thee therefore”; the service book upon which oaths were 
sworn. 


1VANH0E 


507 


This explanation was satisfactory, to Albert’s great joy; 
for the wily knight had foreseen the great difficulty, or 
rather impossibility, of prevailing upon Brian de Bois- 
Guilbert to take such an oath before the assembly, and had 
invented this excuse to escape the necessity of his doing so. 

The Grand Master, having allowed the apology of Albert 
Malvoisin, commanded the herald to stand forth and do his 
devoir. The trumpets then again flourished, and a herald, 
stepping forward, proclaimed aloud, — “ Oyez, oyez, oyez. 1 
— Here standeth the good Knight, Sir Brian de Bois-Guil- 
bert, ready to do battle with any knight of free blood, who 
will sustain the quarrel allowed and allotted to the Jewess 
Bebecca, to try by champion, in respect of lawful essoine 
of her own body; and to such champion the reverend and 
valorous Grand Master here present allows a fair field, and 
equal partition of sun and wind, and whatever el'se apper- 
tains to a fair combat.” The trumpets again sounded, and 
there was a dead pause of many minutes. 

“ No champion appears for the appellant,” said the 
Grand Master. “ Go, herald, and ask her whether she 
expects any one to do battle for her in this her cause.” 
The herald went to the chair in which Bebecca was seated, 
and Bois-Guilbert, suddenly turning his horse’s head to- 
ward that end of the lists, in spite of hints on either side 
from Malvoisin and Mont-Fitchet, was by the side of Be- 
becca’s chair as soon as the herald. 

“ Is this regular, and according to the law of combat ? ” 
said Malvoisin, looking to the Grand Master. 

“ Albert de Malvoisin, it is,” answered Beaumanoir; “ for 
in this appeal to the judgment of God, we may not prohibit 
parties from having that communication with each other, 
which may best tend to bring forth the truth of the 
quarrel.” 

In the meantime, the herald spoke to Bebecca in these 
terms: — “ Damsel, the Honourable and Beverend the 
Grand Master demands of thee, if thou art prepared with 
a champion to do battle this day in thy behalf, or if thou 
dost yield thee as one justly condemned to a deserved 
doom? ” 

“ Say to the Grand Master,” replied Bebecca, “ that I 

1 “ Hear ye ! ” An old French phrase, still used in opening certain 
courts of trial. 


508 


I VAN HOE 


maintain my innocence, and do not yield me as justly con- 
demned, lest I become guilty of mine own blood. Say to 
him, that I challenge such delay as his forms will permit, 
to see if God, whose opportunity is in man’s extremity, will 
raise me up a deliverer; and when such uttermost space is 
passed, may His holy will be done! ” The herald retired 
to carry this answer to the Grand Master. 

“ God forbid,” said Lucas Beaumanoir, “ that J ew or 
Pagan should impeach us of injustice! — Until the shadows 
be cast from the west to the eastward, will we wait to see 
if a champion shall appear for this unfortunate woman. 
When the day is so far passed, let her prepare for death.” 

The herald communicated the words of the Grand Master 
to Rebecca, who bowed her head submissively, folded her 
arms, and looking up towards heaven, seemed to expect 
that aid from above which she could scarce promise herself 
from man. During this awful pause, the voice of Bois- 
Guilbert broke upon her ear — it was but a whisper, yet it 
startled her more than the summons of the herald had 
appeared to do. 

“ Rebecca,” said the Templar, “ dost thou hear me ? ” 

“ I have no portion in thee, cruel, hard-hearted man,” 
said the unfortunate maiden. 

“ Ay, but dost thou understand my words ? ” said the 
Templar; “ for the sound of my voice is frightful in mine 
own ears. I scarce know on what ground we stand, or for 
what purpose they have brought us hither. — This listed 
space — that chair — these faggots — I know their purpose, 
and yet it appears to me like something unreal — the fear- 
ful picture of a vision, which appals my sense with hideous 
fantasies, but convinces not my reason.” 

“ My mind and senses keep touch and time,” answered 
Rebecca, “ and tell me alike that these faggots are destined 
to consume my earthly body, and open a painful but a brief 
passage to a better world.” 

“ Dreams, Rebecca, — dreams,” answered the Templar; 
“ idle visions, rejected by the wisdom of your own wiser 
Sadducees. Hear me, Rebecca,” he said, proceeding with 
animation; “ a better chance hast thou for life and liberty 
than yonder knaves and dotard dream of. Mount thee 
behind me on my steed — on Zamor, the gallant horse that 
never failed his rider. I won him in single fight from the 


IVANHOE 


509 


Soldan of Trebizond 1 — mount, I say, behind me — in one 
short hour is pursuit and enquiry far behind — a new world 
of pleasure opens to thee — to me a new career of fame. 
Let them speak the doom which I despise, and erase the 
name of Bois-Guilbert from their list of monastic slaves! 
I will wash out with blood whatever blot they may dare 
to cast on my scutcheon.” 

“Tempter,” said Rebecca, “begone! — Not in this last 
extremity canst thou move me one hair’s-breadth from my 
resting place — surrounded as I am by foes, I hold thee as 
my worst and most deadly enemy. Avoid thee , 2 in the 
name of God! ” 

Albert Malvoisin, alarmed and impatient at the duration 
of their conference, now advanced to interrupt it. 

“Hath the maiden acknowledged her guilt?” he de- 
manded of Bois-Guilbert; “ or is she resolute in her 
denial ? ” 

“ She is indeed resolute ,” said Bois-Guilbert. 

“ Then,” said Malvoisin, “ must thou, noble brother, 
resume thy place to attend the issue — the shades are 
changing on the circle of the dial. Come, brave Bois- 
Guilbert — come, thou hope of our holy Order, and soon to 
be its head.” 

As he spoke in this soothing tone, he laid his hand on 
the knight’s bridle, as if to lead him back to his station. 

“False villain! what meanest thou by thy hand on my 
rein? ” said Sir Brian, angrily. And shaking off his com- 
panion’s grasp, he rode back to the upper end of the lists. 

“ There is yet spirit in him,” said Malvoisin apart to 
Mont-Fitchet, “ were it well directed — but, like the Greek 
fire , 3 it burns whatever approaches it.” 

The Judges had now been two hours in the lists, await- 
ing in vain the appearance of a champion. 

“ And reason good,” said Friar Tuck, “ seeing she is a 
Jewess — and yet, by mine Order, it is hard that so young 
and beautiful a creature should perish without one blow 

1 A seaport on the southern coast of the Black Sea. The “em- 
pire of Trebizond,” which centred there, was slightly later in date 
than the period of Ivanhoe. 

2 Away with thee ! p 

3 A combustible composition, probably of asphalt, nitre, and suF 
plmr, used in mediaeval warfare throughout the East. 


510 


1VANHOE 


being struck in her behalf! Were she ten times a witch, 
provided she were but the least bit of a Christian, my 
quarter-staff should ring noon on the steel cap of yonder 
fierce Templar, ere he carried the matter off thus.” 

It was, however, the general belief that no one could or 
would appear for a Jewess, accused of sorcery; and the 
knights, instigated by Malvoisin, whispered to each other 
that it was time to declare the pledge of Rebecca forfeited. 
At this instant a knight, urging his horse to speed, ap- 
peared on the plain advancing towards the lists. A hun- 
dred voices exclaimed, “ A champion! a champion! ” And 
despite the prepossessions and prejudices of the multitude, 
they shouted unanimously as the knight rode into the tilt- 
yard. The second glance, however, served to destroy the 
hope that his timely arrival had excited. His horse, urged 
for many miles to its utmost speed, appeared to reel from 
fatigue, and the rider, however undauntedly he presented 
himself in the lists, either from weakness, weariness, or 
both, seemed scarce able to support himself in the saddle. 

To the summons of the herald, who demanded his rank, 
his name, and purpose, the stranger knight answered read- 
ily and boldly, “ I am, a good knight and noble, come 
hither to sustain with lance and sword the just and lawful 
quarrel of this damsel, Rebecca, daughter of Isaac of York; 
to uphold the doom pronounced against her to be false 
and truthless, and to defy Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert, as a 
traitor, murderer, and liar; as I will prove in this field with 
my body against his, by the aid of God, of Our Lady, and 
of Monseigneur Saint George, the good knight.” 

“ The stranger must first show,” said Malvoisin, “ that 
he is good knight, and of honourable lineage. The 
Temple sendeth not forth her champions against nameless 
men.” 

“ My name,” said the Knight, raising his helmet, “ is 
better known, my lineage more pure, Malvoisin, than thine 
own. I am Wilfred of Ivanhoe.” 

“I will not fight with thee at present,” said the Templar, 
in a changed and hollow voice. “ Get thy wounds healed, 
purvey 1 thee a better horse, and it may be I will hold it 
worth my while to scourge out of thee this boyish spirit of 
bravade.” 


1 Provide. 


I VAN HOE 


511 


“Ha! proud Templar,” said Ivanhoe, “hast thou for- 
gotten that twice didst thou fall before this lance? Re- 
member the lists at Acre — remember the Passage of Arms 
at x\shby — remember thy proud vaunt in the halls of 
Rotherwood, and the gage of your gold chain against my 
reliquary, that thou wouldst do battle with Wilfred of 
Ivanhoe, and recover the honour thou hadst lost! By that 
reliquary, and the holy relic it contains, I will proclaim 
thee. Templar, a coward in every court in Europe — in 
every Preceptory of thine Order — unless thou do battle 
without farther delay.” 

Bois-Guilbert turned his countenance irresolutely to- 
wards Rebecca, and then exclaimed, looking fiercely at 
Ivanhoe, “ Dog of a Saxon! take thy lance, and prepare for 
the death thou hast drawn upon thee! ” 

“Does the Grand Master allow me the combat?” said 
Ivanhoe. 

“ I may not deny what thou hast challenged,” said the 
Grand Master, “ provided the maiden accepts thee as her 
champion. Yet I would thou wert in better plight to do 
battle. An enemy of our Order hast thou ever been, yet 
would I have thee honourably met with.” 

“ Thus — thus as I am, and not otherwise,” said Ivanhoe; 
“ it is the judgment of God — to his keeping I commend 
myself. — Rebecca,” said he, riding up to the fatal chair, 
“ dost thou accept of me for thy champion? ” 

“ I do,” she said — “ I do,” fluttered by an emotion which 
the fear of death had been unable to produce; “ I do accept 
thee as the champion whom Heaven hath sent me. Yet, 
no — no — thy wounds are uncured. Meet not that proud 
man — why shouldst thou perish also? ” 

But Ivanhoe was already at his post, and had closed his 
visor, and assumed his lance. Bois-Guilbert did the same; 
and his esquire remarked’ as he clasped his visor, that his 
face, which had, notwithstanding the variety of emotions 
by which he had been agitated, continued during the whole 
morning of an ashy paleness, was now become suddenly 
very much flushed. 

The herald, then, seeing each champion in his place, up- 
lifted his voice, repeating thrice — Faites vos devoirs , preux 
chevaliers ! 1 After the third cry, he withdrew to one side 
1 “ Do your duty, valiant knights,” 


512 


I VAN HOE 


of the lists, and again proclaimed, that none, on peril of 
instant death, should dare, by word, cry, or action, to inter- 
fere with or disturb this fair field of combat. The Grand 
Master, who held in his hand the gage of battle, Rebecca's 
glove, now threw it into the lists, and pronounced the fatal 
signal words, Laissez alter. 

The trumpets sounded, and the knights charged each 
other in full career. The wearied horse of Ivanhoe, and 
its no less exhausted rider, went down, as all had expected, 
before the well-aimed lance and vigorous steed of the 
Templar. This issue of the combat all had foreseen; but 
although the spear of Ivanhoe did hut, in comparison, 
touch the shield of Bois-Guilbert, that champion, to the 
astonishment of all who beheld it, reeled in his saddle, lost 
his stirrups, and fell in the lists. 

Ivanhoe, extricating himself from his fallen horse, was 
soon on foot, hastening to mend his fortune with his sword; 
hut his antagonist arose not. Wilfred, placing his foot on 
his breast, and the sword’s point to his throat, commanded 
him to yield him, or die on the spot. Bois-Guilbert re- 
turned no answer. 

“ Slay him not. Sir Knight,” cried the Grand Master, 
“ unshriven and unabsolved — kill not body and soul! We 
allow him vanquished.” 

He descended into the lists, and commanded them to 
unhelm the conquered champion. His eyes were closed — 
the dark red flush was still on his brow. As they looked 
on him in astonishment, the eyes opened — but they were 
fixed and glazed. The flush passed from his brow, and 
gave way to the pallid hue of death. Unscathed by the 
lance of his enemy, he had died a victim to the violence of 
his own contending passions . 1 


1 In Lockhart’s Life of Scott (Yol. iv, Chapter x), Mrs. Skene, 
the wife of Scott’s old friend, contributes the following : “ Dining 
with us one day, not long before Ivanhoe was begun, something that 
was mentioned led him to describe the sudden death of an advocate 
of his acquaintance, a Mr. Elphinstone, which occurred in the 
Outer-house soon after he was called to the bar. It was, he said, no 
wonder that it left a vivid impression on his mind, for it was the 
first sudden death he ever witnessed : and he now related it so as to 
make us all feel as if we had the scene passing before our eyes. In 
the death of the Templar in Ivanhoe, I recognized the very picture — 
I believe I may safely say, the very words.” 


IV AN HOE 


513 


“ This is indeed the judgment of God/’ said the Grand 
Master, looking upwards — “ Fiat voluntas tua 1 ! ” 

1 “ Thy will be done ! ” 

[For a parallel to the by-play among the minor characters, at the 
outset of the chapter, recall the scene between Isaac and Wamba at 
the beginning of the tournament (Chapter vii). The Templar’s last 
proposition to Rebecca provides the “moment of final suspense” 
which often occurs in fiction and the drama. In the Templar’s death, 
notice how Scott gives a natural cause for an event which is designed 
to impress us, and does impress us, as an act of divine justice. Ob- 
serve how simply, and yet how seriously and adequately, Scott deals 
with this great theme of the judgment of God.] 

33 


CHAPTER XLIV 


So ! now ’tis ended, like an old wife’s story. 

Webster. 

When - the first moments of surprise were over, Wilfred 
of Ivanhoe demanded of the Grand Master, as judge of the 
field, if he had manfully and rightfully done his duty in the 
combat. 

“ Manfully and rightfully hath it been done,” said the 
Grand Master; “ I pronounce the maiden free and guiltless. 
The arms and the body of the deceased knight are at the 
will of the victor.” 

“ I will not despoil him of his weapons,” said the Knight 
of Ivanhoe, “ nor condemn his corpse to shame — he hath 
fought for Christendom. God’s arm, no human hand, 
hath this day struck him down. But let his obsequies 
he private, as becomes those of a man who died in an 
unjust quarrel. — And for the maiden ” 

He was interrupted by a clattering of horses’ feet, ad- 
vancing in such numbers, and so rapidly, as to shake the 
ground before them; and the Black Knight galloped into 
the lists. He was followed by a numerous hand of men- 
at-arms, and several knights in complete armour. 

“ I am too late,” he said, looking around him. “ I had 
doomed Bois-Guilbert for mine own property. — Ivanhoe, 
was this well, to take on thee such a venture, and thou 
scarce able to keep thy saddle ? ” 

“ Heaven, my Liege,” answered Ivanhoe, “ hath taken 
this proud man for its victim. He was not to he honoured 
in dying as your will had designed.” 

“ Peace he with him,” said Richard, looking steadfastly 
on the corpse, “ if it may he so — he was a gallant knight, 
and has died in his steel harness full knightly. But we 
must waste no time. — Bohun, do thine office! ” 

A Knight stepped forward from the King’s attendants, 


IVANJIOE 


515 


and, laying his hand on the shoulder of Albert de Mal- 
voisin, said, “ I arrest thee of High Treason.” 

The Grand Master had hitherto stood astonished at the 
appearance of so many warriors. — He now spoke. 

“ Who dares to arrest a Knight of the Temple of Zion, 
within the girth of his own Preceptory, and in the presence 
of the Grand Master? and by whose authority is this bold 
outrage offered? ” 

“ 1 make the arrest,” replied the Knight — “ I, Henry 
Bohun, Earl of Essex, Lord High Constable of England.” 1 

“ And he arrests Malvoisin,” said the King, raising his 
visor, “ by the order of Kichard Plantagenet, here present. 
— Conrade Mont-Fitchet, it is well for thee thou art born 
no subject of mine. — But for thee, Malvoisin, thou diest 
with thy brother Philip, ere the world be a week older.” 

“ I will resist thy doom,” 2 said the Grand Master. 

“ Proud Templar,” said the King, “thou canst not — look 
up, and behold the Eoyal Standard of England floats over 
thy towers instead of thy Temple banner! — Be wise, Beau- 
manoir, and make no bootless opposition. Thy hand is in 
the Horn's mouth.” 

“ I will appeal to Pome against thee,” said the Grand 
Master, “ for usurpation on the immunities and privileges 
of our Order.” 

“ Be it so,” said the King; “ but for thine own sake tax 
me not with usurpation now. Dissolve thy Chapter, and 
depart with thy followers to thy next Preceptory, (if thou 
canst find one), which has not been made the scene of 
treasonable conspiracy against the King of England. Or, 
if thou wilt, remain, to share our hospitality, and behold 
our justice.” 

“ To be a guest in the house where I should command? ” 
said the Templar; “ never! — Chaplains, raise the Psalm, 
Quare fremuerunt Gentes ? 3 — Knights, squires, and fol- 
lowers of the Holy Temple, prepare to follow the banner 
of Beau-seant ! ” 

The Grand Master spoke with a dignity which con- 
fronted even that of England’s king himself, and inspired 
courage into his surprised and dismayed followers. They 
gathered around him like the sheep around the watch-dog, 

1 See note in Chapter xli. 2 Sentence. 

3 “ Why do the heathen rage ? ” Psalms ii. 1. 


516 


IVANIIOE 


when they hear the haying of the wolf. But they evinced 
not the timidity of the sacred flock — there were dark brows 
of defiance,, and looks which menaced the hostility they 
dared not to proffer in words. They drew together in a 
dark line of spears, from which the white cloaks of the 
knights were visible among the dusky garments of their 
retainers, like the lighter-coloured edges of a sable cloud. 
The multitude, who had raised a clamorous shout of repro- 
bation, paused and gazed in silence on the formidable and 
experienced body to which they had unwarily bade defi- 
ance, and shrunk back from their front. 

Tim Earl of Essex, when he beheld them pause in their 
assembled force, dashed the rowels into his charger’s sides, 
and galloped backwards and forwards to array his follow- 
ers, in opposition to a band so formidable. Bichard alone, 
as if he loved the danger his presence had provoked, rode 
slowly along the front of the Templars, calling aloud, 
“ What, sirs! Among so many gallant knights, will none 
dare splinter a spear with Richard? — Sirs of the Temple! 
your ladies are but sun-burned, if they are not worth the 
shiver of a broken lance.” 

“ The Brethren of the Temple,” said the Grand Master, 
riding forward in advance of their body, “ fight not on 
such idle and profane quarrel — and not with thee, Richard 
of England, shall a Templar cross lance in my presence. 
The Pope and Princes of Europe shall judge our quarrel, 
and whether a Christian prince has done well in buckler- 
ing the cause which thou hast to-day adopted. If un- 
assailed, we depart assailing no one. To thine honour we 
refer the armour and household goods of the Order which 
we leave behind us, and on thy conscience we lay the scan- 
dal and offence thou hast this day given to Christendom.” 

With these words, and without waiting a reply, the 
Grand Master gave the signal of departure. Their trum- 
pets sounded a wild march, of an Oriental character, which 
formed the usual signal for the Templars to advance. They 
changed their array from a line to a column of march, and 
moved off as slowly as their horses could step, as if to show 
it was only the will of their Grand Master, and no fear of 
the opposing and superior force, which compelled them to 
withdraw. 

“By the splendour of Our Lady’s brow!” said King 


IV AN IIOE 


517 


Richard, “ it is pity of their lives that these Templars are 
not so trusty as they are disciplined and valiant.” 

The multitude, like a timid cur which waits to hark till 
the object of its challenge has turned his back, raised a 
feeble shout as the rear of the squadron left the ground. 

During the tumult which attended the retreat of the 
Templars, Rebecca saw and heard nothing — she was locked 
in the arms of her aged father, giddy, and almost senseless, 
with the rapid change of circumstances around her. But 
one word from Isaac at length recalled her scattered 
feelings. 

“ Let us go,” he said, “ my dear daughter, my recovered 
treasure — let us go to throw ourselves at the feet of the 
good youth.” 

“ Not so,” said Rebecca, “ 0 no — no — no — I must not at 
this moment dare to speak to him. Alas! I should say more 
than — No, my father, let us instantly leave this evil 
place.” 

“ But, my daughter,” said Isaac, “ to leave him who 
hath come forth like a strong man with his spear and 
shield, holding his life as nothing, so he might redeem thy 
captivity; and thou, too, the daughter of a people strange 
unto him and his — this is service to be thankfully acknowl- 
edged.” 

“ It is — it is — most thankfully — most devoutly acknowl- 
edged,” said Rebecca; “ it shall be still more so — but not 
now — for the sake of thy beloved Rachael, father, grant my 
request — not now! ” 

“ Nay, but,” said Isaac, insisting, “ they will deem us 
more thankless than mere dogs! ” 

“ But thou seest, my dear father, that King Richard is 
in presence, and that ” 

te True, my best — my wisest Rebecca ! — Let us hence — let 
us hence! — Money he will lack, for he has just returned 
from Palestine, and, as they say, from prison — and pretext 
for exacting it, should he need any, may arise out of my 
simple traffic with his brother John. Away, away, let us 
hence! ” 

And hurrying his daughter in his turn, he conducted 
her from the lists, and by means of conveyance which he 
had provided, transported her safely to the house of the 
Rabbi Nathan. 


518 


IVANHOE 


The Jewess, whose fortunes had formed the principal 
interest of the day, having now retired unobserved, the 
attention of the populace was transferred to the Black 
Knight. They now tilled the air with “ Long life to Rich- 
ard with the Lion’s Heart, and down with the usurping 
Templars! ” 

“ Notwithstanding all this lip-loyalty,” said Ivanhoe to 
the Earl of Essex, “ it was well the King took the precau- 
tion to bring thee with him, noble Earl, and so many of thy 
trusty followers.” 

The Earl smiled and shook his head. 

“ Gallant Ivanhoe,” said Essex, “ dost thou know our 
Master so well, and yet suspect him of taking so wise a 
precaution! I was drawing towards York, having heard 
that Prince John was making head there, when I met King 
Richard, like a true knight-errant, galloping hither to 
achieve in his own person this adventure of the Templar 
and the Jewess, with his own single arm. I accompanied 
him with my hand, almost maugre 1 his consent.” 

“ And what news from York, brave Earl? ” said Ivanhoe; 
“ will the rebels bide us there ? ” 

“ No more than December’s snow will bide July’s sun,” 
said the Earl; “they are dispersing; and who should come 
posting to bring us the news, but John himself! ” 

“ The traitor! the ungrateful, insolent traitor! ” said 
Ivanhoe; “ did not Richard order him into confinement? ” 

“ Oh, he received him,” answered the Earl, “ as if they 
had met after a hunting party; and, pointing to me and 
our men-at-arms, said, ‘ Thou seest, brother, I have some 
angry men with me — thou wert best go to our mother, 
carry her my duteous affection, and abide with her until 
men’s minds are pacified.’ ” 

“And this was all he said? ” enquired Ivanhoe; “would 
not any one say that this Prince invites men to treason by 
his clemency? ” 

“Just,” replied the Earl, “as the man may be said to 
invite death, who undertakes to fight a combat, having a 
dangerous wound unhealed.” 

“ I forgive thee the jest, Lord Earl,” said Ivanhoe; “ but, 
remember, I hazarded but my own life — Richard, the wel- 
fare of his kingdom.” 


1 In spite of. 


I VAN HOE 


519 


“ Those/’ replied Essex, “ who are specially careless of 
their own welfare are seldom remarkably attentive to that 
of others. But let us haste to the castle, for Richard medi- 
tates punishing some of the subordinate members of the 
conspiracy, though he has pardoned their principal.” 

From the judicial investigations which followed on this 
occasion, and which are given at length in the Wardour 
Manuscript, it appears that Maurice de Bracy escaped be- 
yond seas, and went into the service of Philip of France; 
while Philip de Malvoisin, and his brother Albert, the 
Preceptor of Templestowe, were executed, although Walde- 
mar Fitzurse, the soul of the conspiracy, escaped with ban- 
ishment; and Prince John, for whose behoof it was under- 
taken, was not even censured by his good-natured brother. 
No one, however, pitied the fate of the two Malvoisins, 
who only suffered the death which they had both well 
deserved, by many acts of falsehood, cruelty, and oppres- 
sion. 

Briefly after the judicial combat, Cedric the Saxon was 
summoned to the court of Richard, which, for the purpose 
of quieting the counties that had been disturbed by the 
ambition of his brother, was then held at York. Cedric 
tushed and pshawed more than once at the message — hut 
he refused not obedience. In fact, the return of Richard 
had quenched every hope that he had entertained of re- 
storing a Saxon dynasty in England; for, whatever head 
the Saxons might have made in the event of a civil war, it 
was plain that nothing could he done under the undisputed 
dominion of Richard, popular as he was by his personal 
good qualities and military fame, although his administra- 
tion was wilfully careless, now too indulgent, and now 
allied to despotism. 

But, moreover, it could not escape even Cedric’s reluc- 
tant observation, that his project for an absolute union 
among the Saxons, by the marriage of Rowena and Athel- 
stane, was now completely at an end, by the mutual dissent 
of both parties concerned. This was, indeed, an event 
which, in his ardour for the Saxon cause, he could not have 
anticipated, and even when the disinclination of both was 
broadly and plainly manifested, he could scarce bring him- 
self to believe that two Saxons of royal descent should 
scruple, on personal grounds, at an alliance so necessary 


520 


IV AN HOE 


for the public weal of the nation. But it was not the less 
certain: Rowena had always expressed her repugnance to 
Athelstane, and now Athelstane was no less plain and posi- 
tive in proclaiming his resolution never to pursue his ad- 
dresses to the Lady Rowena. Even the natural obstinacy 
of Cedric sunk beneath these obstacles, where he, remaining 
on the point of junction, had the task of dragging a reluc- 
tant pair up to it, one with each hand. He made, however, 
a last vigorous attack on Athelstane, and he found that 
resuscitated sprout of Saxon royalty engaged, like country 
squires of our own day, in a furious war with the clergy. 

It seems that, after all his deadly menaces against 
the Abbot of Saint Edmund’s, Athelstane’s spirit of re- 
venge, what between the natural indolent kindness of his 
own disposition, what through the prayers of his mother 
Edith, attached, like most ladies, (of the period,) to the 
clerical order, had terminated in his keeping the Abbot 
and his monks in the dungeons of Coningsburgli for three 
days on a meagre diet. For this atrocity the Abbot men- 
aced him with excommunication, and made out a dreadful 
list of complaints in the bowels and stomach, suffered by 
himself and his monks, in consequence of the tyrannical 
and unjust imprisonment they had sustained. With this 
controversy, and with the means he had adopted to coun- 
teract this clerical persecution, Cedric found the mind of 
his friend Athelstane so fully occupied that it had no room 
for another idea. And when Rowena’s name was men- 
tioned, the noble Athelstane prayed leave to quaff a full 
goblet to her health, and that she might soon be the bride 
of his kinsman Wilfred. It was a desperate case therefore. 
There was obviously no more to be made of Athelstane; or, 
as Wamba expressed it, in a phrase which has descended 
from Saxon times to ours, he was a cock that would not 
fight. 

There remained betwixt Cedric and the determination 
which the lovers desired to come to, only two obstacles — • 
his own obstinacy and his dislike of the Norman dynasty. 
The former feeling gradually gave way before the endear- 
ments of his ward and the pride which he coidd not help 
nourishing in the fame of his son. Besides, he was not 
insensible to the honour of allying his own line to that of 
Alfred, when the superior claims of the descendant of 


IVANIIOE 


521 


Edward the Confessor were abandoned for ever. Cedric’s 
aversion to the Norman race of kings was also much under- 
mined, — first, by consideration of the impossibility of 
ridding England of the new dynasty, a feeling which goes 
far to create loyalty in the subject to the king de facto 1 ; 
and, secondly, by the personal attention of King Richard, 
who delighted in the blunt humour of Cedric, and, to use 
the language of the Wardour Manuscript, so dealt with the 
noble Saxon that, ere he had been a guest at court for 
seven days, he had given his consent to the marriage of his 
ward Rowena and his son Wilfred of Ivanhoe. 

The nuptials of our hero, thus formally approved by his 
father, were celebrated in the most august of temples, the 
noble Minster of York. The King himself attended, and, 
from the countenance which he afforded on this and other 
occasions to the distressed and hitherto degraded Saxons, 
gave them a safer and more certain prospect of attaining 
their just rights than they could reasonably hope from the 
precarious chance of a civil war. The Church gave her 
full solemnities, graced with all the splendour which she 
of Rome knows how to apply with such brilliant effect. 

Gurth, gallantly apparelled, attended as esquire upon 
his young master whom he had served so faithfully, and 
the magnanimous Warnba, decorated with a new cap and a 
most gorgeous set of silver bells. Sharers of Wilfred’s 
dangers and adversit}q they remained, as they had a right 
to expect, the partakers of his more prosperous career. 

But besides this domestic retinue, these distinguished 
nuptials were celebrated by the attendance of the high- 
born Normans, as well as Saxons, joined with the univer- 
sal jubilee of the lower orders, that marked the marriage 
of two individuals as a pledge of the future peace and 
harmony betwixt two races which, since that period, have 
been so completely mingled that the distinction has be- 
come wholly invisible. Cedric lived to see this union 
approximate towards its completion; for as the two nations 
mixed in society and formed intermarriages with each 
other, the Normans abated their scorn, and the Saxons 
were refined from their rusticity. But it was not until 
the reign of Edward the Third that the mixed language, 
now termed English, was spoken at the court of London, 
1 “ In fact,” actual ; as opposed to de jure, “by right.” 


522 


IVANHOE 


and that the hostile distinction of Norman and Saxon 
seems entirely to have disappeared . 1 

It was upon the second morning after this happy bridal, 
that the Lady Bowena was made acquainted by her hand- 
maid Elgitha that a damsel desired admission to her pres- 
ence, and solicited that their parley might be without wit- 
ness. Bowena wondered, hesitated, became curious, and 
ended by commanding the damsel to be admitted, and her 
attendants to withdraw. 

She entered — a noble and commanding figure, the long 
white veil in which she was shrouded overshadowing 
rather than concealing the elegance and majesty of her 
shape. Her demeanour was that of respect, unmingled by 
the least shade either of fear or of a wish to propitiate 
favour. Bowena was ever ready to acknowledge the claims, 
and attend to the feelings, of others. She arose, and would 
have conducted her lovely visitor to a seat; but the stranger 
looked at Elgitha, and again intimated a wish to discourse 
with the Lady Bowena alone. Elgitha had no sooner 
retired with unwilling steps than, to the surprise of the 
Lady of Ivanhoe, her fair visitant kneeled on one knee, 
pressed her hands to her forehead, and bending her head 
to the ground, in spite of Bowena’s resistance kissed the 
embroidered hem of her tunic. 

“ What means this, lady? ” said the surprised bride; “ or 
why do you offer to me a deference so unusual ? ” 

“ Because to you, Lady of Ivanhoe/’ said Bebecca, rising 
up and resuming the usual quiet dignity of her manner, 
“ I may lawfully, and without rebuke, pay the debt of 
gratitude which I owe to Wilfred of Ivanhoe. I am — for- 
give the boldness which has offered to you the homage of 
my country — I am the unhappy Jewess for whom your 
husband hazarded his life against such fearful odds in the 
tiltyard of Templestowe.” 

“ Damsel,” said Bowena, “ Wilfred of Ivanhoe on that 
day rendered back but in slight measure your unceasing 
charity towards him in his wounds and misfortunes. 
Speak, is there aught remains in which he or I can serve 
thee ? ” 

“ Nothing,” said Bebecca, calmly, “ unless you will 
transmit to him my grateful farewell.” 

1 See the note in Chapter i. 


I VAN HOE 


523 


“ You leave England, then?” said Rowena, scarce re- 
covering the surprise of this extraordinary visit. 

“ I leave it, lady, ere this moon again changes. My 
father had a brother high in favour with Mohammed 
Boalxlil, King of Grenada 1 — thither we go, secure of peace 
and protection, for the payment of such ransom as the 
Moslem exact from our people.” 

“ And are you not then as well protected in England? ” 
said Rowena. “ My husband has favour with the King — 
the King himself is just and generous.” 

“ Lady,” said Rebecca, “ I doubt it not — but the people 
of England are a fierce race, quarrelling ever with their 
neighbours or among themselves, and ready to plunge 
the sword into the bowels of each other. Such is no safe 
abode for the children of my people. Ephraim is an 
heartless dove 2 — Issachar an over-laboured drudge, which 
stoops between two burdens . 3 Not in a land of war and 
blood, surrounded by hostile neighbours and distracted by 
internal factions, can Israel hope to rest during her wan- 
derings.” 

“ But you, maiden,” said Rowena — “ you surely can 
have nothing to fear. She who nursed the sick-bed of 
Ivanhoe,” she continued, rising with enthusiasm — “ she 
can have nothing to fear in England, where Saxon and 
Norman will contend who shall most do her honour.” 

“ Thy speech is fair, lady,” said Rebecca, “ and thy pur- 
pose fairer; but it may not be — there is a gulf betwixt us. 
Our breeding, our faith, alike forbid either to pass over it. 
Farewell — yet, ere I go, indulge me one request. The 
bridal-veil hangs over thy face; deign to raise it, and let 
me see the features of which fame speaks so highly.” 

“ They are scarce worthy of being looked upon,” said 
Rowena; “ but, expecting the same from my visitant, I 
remove the veil.” 

She took it off accordingly; and, partly from the con- 
sciousness of beauty, partly from bashfulness, she blushed 
so intensely that cheek, brow, neck, and bosom were 
suffused with crimson. Rebecca blushed also, but it was 
a momentary feeling; and, mastered by higher emotions, 

1 See the note in Chapter xxxviii. 

2 Hosea vii. 11. 

3 Genesis xlix. 14. 


524 


IVANIIOE 


past slowly from her features like the crimson cloud which 
changes colour when the sun sinks beneath the horizon. 

“ Lady,” she said, “ the countenance you have deigned 
to show me will long dwell in my remembrance. There 
reigns in it gentleness and goodness; and if a tinge of the 
world’s pride or vanities may mix with an expression so 
lovely, how should we chide that which is of earth for 
hearing some colour of its original? Long, long will I 
remember your features, and bless God that I leave my 
noble deliverer united with ” 

She stopped short — her eyes filled with tears. She has- 
tily wiped them, and answered to the anxious enquiries of 
Rowena — “ I am well, lady — well. But my heart swells 
when I think of Torquilstone and the lists of Templestowe. 
— Farewell. One, the most trifling part of my duty, re- 
mains undischarged. Accept this casket — startle not at 
its contents.” 

Rowena opened the small silver-chased casket, and per- 
ceived a carcanet, or necklace, with ear- jewels, of diamonds, 
which were obviously of immense value. 

“ It is impossible,” she said, tendering hack the casket. 
“ I dare not accept a gift of such consequence.” 

“ Yet keep it, lady,” returned Rebecca. — “ You have 
power, rank, command, influence; we have wealth, the 
source both of our strength and weakness; the value of 
these toys, ten times multiplied, would not influence half 
so much as your slightest wish. To you, therefore, the 
gift is of little value, — and to me, what I part with is of 
much less. Let me not think you deem so wretchedly ill 
of my nation as your commons believe. Think ye that I 
prize these sparkling fragments of stone above my liberty? 
or that my father values them in comparison to the honour 
of his only child? Accept them, lady — to me they are 
valueless. I will never wear jewels more.” 

“ You are then unhappy! ” said Rowena, struck with the 
manner in which Rebecca uttered the last words. “ Oh, re- 
main with us — the counsel of holy men will wean you from 
your erring law, and I will he a sister to you.” 

“ No, lady,” answered Rebecca, the same calm melan- 
choly reigning in her soft voice and beautiful features — 
“ that may not he. I may not change the faith of my 
fathers like a garment unsuited to the climate in which I 


I VAN HOE 


525 


seek to dwell, and unhappy, lady, I will not be. He to 
whom I dedicate my future life will he my comforter, if I 
do His will.” 

“ Have you then convents, to one of which you mean to 
retire? ” asked Rowena. 

“No, lady,” said the Jewess; “but among our people, 
since the time of Abraham downwards, have been women 
who have devoted their thoughts to Heaven, and their ac- 
tions to works of kindness to men, tending the sick, feed- 
ing the hungry, and relieving the distressed. Among these 
will Rebecca he numbered. Say this to thy lord, should he 
chance to enquire after the fate of her whose life he saved.” 

There was an involuntary tremour on Rebecca’s voice, 
and- a tenderness of accent, which perhaps betrayed more 
than she would willingly have expressed. She hastened 
to hid Rowena adieu. 

“Farewell,” she said. “May He who made both Jew 
and Christian shower down on you his choicest blessings! 
The bark that wafts us hence will be under weigh ere we 
can reach the port.” 

She glided from the apartment, leaving Rowena sur- 
prised as if a vision had passed before her. The fair Saxon 
related the singular conference to her husband, on whose 
mind it made a deep impression. He lived long and hap- 
pily with Rowena, for they were attached to each other by 
the bonds of early affection, and they loved each other the 
more, from the recollection of the obstacles which had im- 
peded their union. Yet it would be enquiring too curiously 
to ask, whether the recollection of Rebecca’s beauty and 
magnanimity did not recur to his mind more frequently 
than the fair descendant of Alfred might altogether have 
approved . 1 

Ivanhoe distinguished himself in the service of Richard, 
and was graced with farther marks of the royal favour. 
He might have risen still higher, but for the premature 
death of the heroic Cceur-de-Lion, before the Castle of 
Chaluz, near Limoges . 2 With the life of a generous, but 
rash and romantic monarch, perished all the projects which 
his ambition and his generosity had formed; to whom may 

1 This was precisely what Thackeray set himself to enquire in Re- 
becca and Rowena. 

2 See Green’s Short History, Chapter ii, Section ix. 


526 


IVANHOE 


be applied, with a slight alteration, the lines composed by 
Johnson for Charles of Sweden 1 — 

His fate was destined to a foreign strand, 

A petty fortress and an “humble ” hand ; 

He left the name at which the world grew pale, 

To point a moral, or adorn a tale . 2 

1 Charles XII (reigned 1697-1718) was killed in an insignificant bat- 
tle in Norway, after having won great reputation for his campaigns 
in Europe. 

2 From The Vanity of Human Wishes , being the Tenth Satire of 
Juvenal Imitated, by Samuel Johnson (1709-1784). Scott said that 
he had more pleasure in reading London and The Vanity of Human 
Wishes than any other poetical composition he could mention. The 
last line of manuscript that he sent to the press was a quotation from 
the latter poem. 

[The withdrawal of the Templars furnishes one of the most purely 
picturesque incidents in the book. Do you think the final disposition 
of the characters exhibits poetic justice ? Reflect carefully upon the 
last paragraph of the Author’s Introduction, which bears upon this 
question. It is one of the noblest passages in all of Scott’s works, 
and it was written at a time when he had had full experience of both 
good and evil fortune.] 


APPENDIX 


I 

AUTHOR’S PREFACE TO FIRST EDITION 


DEDICATORY EPISTLE 

TO 

THE REV. DR. DRYASDUST, F.A.S. 

Residing in the Castle- Gate, York 

Much esteemed and dear Sir, 

It is scarcely necessary to mention the various and concurring 
reasons which induce me to place your name at the head of the fol- 
lowing work. Yet the chief of these reasons may perhaps be refuted 
by the imperfections of the performance. Could I have hoped to 
render it worthy of your patronage, the public would at once have 
seen the propriety of inscribing a work designed to illustrate the 
domestic antiquities of England, and particularly of our Saxon fore- 
fathers, to the learned author of the Essays upon the Horn of King 
Ulphus, and on the lands bestowed by him upon the patrimony of St. 
Peter. I am conscious, however, that the slight, unsatisfactory, and 
trivial manner, in which the result of my antiquarian researches has 
been recorded in the following pages, takes the work from under that 
class which bears the proud motto, Detur digniori. On the contrary, 
I fear I shall incur the censure of presumption in placing the venera- 
ble name of Hr. Jonas Dryasdust at the head of a publication, which 
the more grave antiquary will perhaps class with the idle novels and 
romances of the day. I am anxious to vindicate myself from such a 
charge ; for although I might trust to your friendship for an apology 
in your eyes, yet I would not willingly stand conviction in those of 
the public of so grave a crime, as my fears lead me to anticipate my 
being charged with. 

I must therefore remind you, that when we first talked over together 
that class of productions, in one of which the private and family 
affairs of your learned northern friend, Mr. Oldbuck of Monkbarns, 
were so unjustifiably exposed to the public, some discussion occurred 


528 


APPENDIX 


between us concerning the cause of the popularity these works have 
attained in this idle age, which, whatever other merit they possess, 
must be admitted to be hastily written, and in violation of every rule 
assigned to the epopeia. It seemed then to be your opinion, that the 
charm lay entirely in the art with which the unknown author had 
availed himself, like a second McPherson, of the antiquarian stores 
which lay scattered around him, supplying his own indolence or 
poverty of invention, by the incidents which had actually taken place 
in his country at no distant period by introducing real characters, 
and scarcely suppressing real names. It was not above sixty or 
seventy years, you observed, since the whole north of Scotland was 
under a state of government nearly as simple and as patriarchal as 
those of our good allies the Mohawks and Iroquois. Admitting that 
the author cannot himself be supposed to have witnessed those 
times, he must have lived, you observed, among persons who had 
acted and suffered in them ; and even within these thirty years, 
such an infinite change has taken place in the manners of Scotland, 
that men look back upon the habits of society proper to their immedi- 
ate ancestors, as we do on those of the reign of Queen Anne, or even 
the period of the Revolution. Having thus materials of every kind 
lying strewed around him, there was little, you observed, to embarrass 
the author, but the difficulty of choice. It was no wonder, therefore, 
that, having begun to work a mine so plentiful, he should have 
derived from his works fully more credit and profit than the facility 
of his labours merited. 

Admitting (as I could not deny) the general truth of these conclu- 
sions, I cannot but think it strange that no attempt has been made to 
excite an interest for the traditions and manners of Old England, 
similar to that which has been obtained in behalf of those of our 
poorer and less celebrated neighbours. The Kendal green, though its 
date is more ancient, ought surely to be as dear to our feelings, as the 
variegated tartans of the north. The name of Robin Ilood, if duly 
conjured with, should raise a spirit as soon as that of Rob Roy; and 
the patriots of England deserve no less their renown in our modern 
circles, than the Bruces and Wallaces of Caledonia. If the scenery of 
the south be less romantic and sublime than that of the northern 
mountains, it must be allowed to possess in the same proportion 
superior softness and beauty; and upon the whole, we feel ourselves 
entitled to exclaim with the patriotic Syrian — “ Are not Pharphar 
and Abana, rivers of Damascus, better than all the rivers of Israel?” 

Your objections to such an attempt, my dear Doctor, were, you 
may remember, two-fold. You insisted upon the advantages which 
the Scotsman possessed from the very recent existence of that state 
of society in which his scene was to be laid. Many now alive, you 
remarked, well remembered persons who had not only seen the cele- 
brated Roy M‘Gregor, but had feasted, and even fought with him. All 
those minute circumstances belonging to private life and domestic 
character, all that gives verisimilitude to a narrative, and individual- 
ity to the persons introduced, is still known and remembered in Scot- 
land; whereas in England, civilisation has been so long complete, that 
our ideas of our ancestors are only to be gleaned from musty records 
and chronicles, the authors of which seem perversely to have con- 
spired to suppress in their narratives all interesting details, in order 


AUTHOR’S PREFACE 


520 


to find room for flowers of monkish eloquence, or trite reflections upon 
morals. To match an English and a Scottish author in the rival task 
of embodying and reviving the traditions of their respective coun- 
tries, would be, you alleged, in the highest degree unequal and un- 
just. The Scottish magician, you said, was, like Lucan’s witch, at 
liberty to walk over the recent field of battle, and to select for the 
subject of resuscitation by his sorceries, a body whose limbs had 
recently quivered with existence, and whose throat had but just 
uttered the last note of agony. Such a subject even the powerful 
Erictho was compelled to select, as alone capable of being reanimated 
even by her potent magic — 

gelidas leto scrutata medullas, 

Pulmonis rigidi stantes sine vulnere ftbras 

Invenit, et vocem defuncto in corpore qiuerit. 

The English author, on the other hand, without supposing him less 
of a conjuror than the Northern Warlock, can, you observed, only 
have the liberty of selecting his subject amidst the dust of antiquity, 
where nothing was to be found but dry, sapless, mouldering, and dis- 
jointed bones, such as those which filled the valley of Jehoshaphat. 
You expressed, besides, your apprehension, that the unpatriotic pre- 
judices of my countrymen would not allow fair play to such a work 
as that of which I endeavoured to demonstrate the probable success. 
And this, you said, was not entirely owing to the more general pre- 
judice in favour of that which is foreign, but that it rested partly upon 
improbabilities, arising out of the circumstances in which the English 
reader is placed. If you describe to him a set of wild manners, and 
a state of primitive society existing in the Highlands of Scotland, he 
is much disposed to acquiesce in the truth of what is asserted. And 
reason good. If he be of the ordinary class of readers, he has either 
never seen those remote districts at all, or he has wandered through 
those desolate regions in the course of a summer tour, eating bad 
dinners, sleeping on truckle beds, stalking from desolation to desola- 
tion, and fully prepared to believe the strangest things that could be 
told him of a people, wild and extravagant enough to be attached to 
scenery so extraordinary. But the same worthy person, when placed 
in his own snug parlour, and surrounded by all the comforts of an 
Englishman’s fireside, is not half so much disposed to believe that his 
own ancestors led a very different life from himself ; that the shat- 
tered tower, which now forms a vista from his window, once held a 
baron who would have hung him up at his own door without any 
form of trial; that the hinds, by whom his little pet-farm is managed, 
a few centuries ago would have been his slaves; and that the complete 
influence of feudal tyranny once extended over the neighbouring vil- 
lage, where the attorney is now a man of more importance than the 
lord of the manor. 

While I own the force of these objections, I must confess, at the 
same time, that they do not appear to me to be altogether insurmount- 
able. The scantiness of materials is indeed a formidable difficulty ; 
but no one knows better than Dr. Dryasdust, that to those deeply 
read in antiquity, hints concerning the private life of our ancestors 
lie scattered through the pages of our various historians, bearing, 

34 


530 


APPENDIX 


indeed, a slender proportion to the other matters of which they treat, 
but still, when collected together, sufficient to throw considerable 
light upon the vie privee of our forefathers ; indeed, I am convinced, 
that however I myself may fail in the ensuing attempt, yet, with more 
labour in collecting, or more skill in using, the materials within his 
reach, illustrated as they have been by the labours of Dr. Henry, of the 
late Mr. Strutt, and, above all, of Mr. Sharon Turner, an abler hand 
would have been successful; and therefore I protest, beforehand, 
against any argument which may be founded on the failure of the 
present experiment. 

On the other hand, I have already said, that if any thing like a true 
picture of old English manners could be drawn, I would trust to the 
good-nature and good sense of my countrymen for insuring its favour- 
able reception. 

Having thus replied, to the best of my power, to the first class of 
your objections, or at least having shown my resolution to overleap 
the barriers which your prudence has raised, I will be brief in noti- 
cing that which is more peculiar to myself. It seems to be your 
opinion, that the very office of an antiquary, employed in grave, and, 
as the vulgar will sometimes allege, in toilsome and minute research, 
must be considered as incapacitating him from successfully com- 
pounding a tale of this sort. But permit me to say, my dear Doctor, 
that this objection is rather formal than substantial. It is true, that 
such slight compositions might not suit the severer genius of our 
friend Mr. Oldbuck. Yet Horace Walpole wrote a goblin tale which 
has thrilled through many a bosom ; and George Ellis could transfer 
all the playful fascination of a humour, as delightful as it was uncom- 
mon, into his Abridgement of the Ancient Metrical Romances. So 
that, however I may have occasion to rue my present audacity, I have 
at least the most respectable precedents in my favour. 

Still the severer antiquary may think, that, by thus intermingling 
fiction with truth, I am polluting the well of history with modern 
inventions, and impressing upon the rising generation false ideas of 
the age which I describe. I cannot but in some sense admit the force 
of this reasoning, which I yet hope to traverse by the following con- 
siderations. 

It is true, that I neither can, nor do pretend, to the observation of 
complete accuracy, even in matters of outward costume, much less in 
the more important points of language and manners. But the same 
motive which prevents my writing the dialogue of the piece in Anglo- 
Saxon or in Norman-French, and which prohibits my sending forth 
to the public this essay printed with the types of Caxton or Wynken 
de Worde, prevents my attempting to confine myself within the limits 
of the period in which my story is laid. It is necessary, for exciting 
interest of any kind, that the subject assumed should’be, as it were, 
translated into the manners, as well as the language, of the age we live 
in. No fascination has ever been attached to Oriental literature, 
equal to that produced by Mr. Galland’s first translation of the 
Arabian Tales; in which, retaining on the one hand the splendour of 
Eastern costume, and on the other the wildness of Eastern fiction, he 
mixed these with just so much ordinary feeling and expression, as 
rendered them interesting and intelligible, while he abridged the long- 
winded narratives, curtailed the monotonous reflections, and rejected 


AUTHOR'S PREFACE 


531 


the endless repetitions of the Arabian original. The tales, therefore, 
though less purely Oriental than in their first concoction, were emi- 
nently better fitted for the European market, and obtained an un- 
rivalled degree of public favour, which they certainly would never have 
gained had not the manners and style been in some degree familiar- 
ized to the feelings and habits of the western reader. 

In point of justice, therefore, to the multitudes who will, I trust, 
devour this book with avidity, I have so far explained our ancient 
manners in modern language, and so far detailed the characters and 
sentiments of my persons, that the modern reader will not find him- 
self, I should hope, much trammelled by the repulsive dryness of mere 
antiquity. In this, I respectfully contend, I have in no respect ex- 
ceeded the fair license due to the author of a fictitious composition. 
The late ingenious Mr. Strutt, in his romance of Queen- IIoo-Hall, * 
acted upon another principle; and in distinguishing between what 
was ancient and modern, forgot, as it appears to me, that extensive 
neutral ground, the large proportion, that is, of manners and senti- 
ments which are common to us and to our ancestors, having been 
handed down unaltered from them to us, or which, arising out of the 
principles of our common nature, must have existed alike in either 
state of society. In this manner, a man of talent, and of great anti- 
quarian erudition, limited the popularity of his work, by excluding 
from it everything which was not sufficiently obsolete to be altogether 
forgotten and unintelligible. 

The license which I would here vindicate, is so necessary to the exe- 
cution of my plan, that I will crave your patience while I illustrate 
my argument a little farther. 

'lie who first opens Chaucer, or any other ancient poet, is so much 
struck with the obsolete spelling, multiplied consonants, and anti- 
quated appearance of the language, that he is apt to lay the work 
down in despair, as encrusted too deep with the rust of antiquity, to 
permit his judging of its merits or tasting its beauties. But if some 
intelligent and accomplished friend points out to him, that the dif- 
ficulties by which he is startled are more in appearance than reality, 
if, by reading aloud to him, or by reducing the ordinary words to the 
modern orthography, he satisfies his proselyte that only about one- 
tenth part of the words employed are in fact obsolete, the novice may 
be easily persuaded to approach the “ well of English undefiled,” with 
the certainty that a slender degree of patience will enable him to enjoy 
both the humour and the pathos with which old Geoffrey delighted 
the age of Cressy and of Poictiers. 

To pursue this a little farther. If our neophyte, strong in the new- 
born love of antiquity, were to undertake to imitate what he had 
learnt to admire, it must be allowed he would act very injudiciously, 
if he were to select from the Glossary the obsolete words which it con- 
tains, and employ those exclusively of all phrases and vocables 
retained in modern days. This was the error of the unfortunate 
Chatterton. In order to give his language the appearance of anti- 
quity, he rejected every word that was modern, and produced a dialect 
entirely different from'any that had ever been spoken in Great Britain. 
He who would imitate an ancient language with success, must 

* The author had revised this posthumous work of Mr. Strutt. See General Preface 
to the present edition. [Scott.] 


532 


APPENDIX 


attend rather to its grammatical character, tarn of expression, and 
mode of arrangement, than labour to collect extraordinary and anti- 
quated terms, which, as I have already averred, do not in ancient 
authors approach the number of words still in use, though perhaps 
somewhat altered in sense and spelling, in the proportion of one to ten. 

What I have applied to language, is still more justly applicable to 
sentiments and manners. The passions, the sources from which these 
must spring in all their modifications, are generally the same in all 
ranks and conditions, all countries and ages; and it follows, as a 
matter of course, that the opinions, habits of thinking, and actions, 
however influenced by the peculiar state of society, must still, upon 
the whole, bear a strong resemblance to each other. Our ancestors 
were not more distinct from us, surely, than Jews are from Christians; 
they had “eyes, hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, pas- 
sions”; were “ fed with the same food, hurt with the same weapons, 
subject to the same diseases, warmed and cooled by the same winter 
and summer,” as ourselves. The tenor, therefore, of their affections 
and feelings, must have borne the same general proportion to our own. 

It follows, therefore, that of the materials which an author has to 
use in a romance, or fictitious composition, such as I have ventured 
to attempt, he will find that a great proportion, both of language 
and manners, is as proper to the present time as to those in which 
he has laid his time of action. The freedom of choice which this 
allows him, is therefore much greater, and the difficulty of his task 
much more diminished, than at first appears. To take an illustration 
from a sister art, the antiquarian details may be said to represent 
the peculiar features of a landscape under delineation of the pencil. 
His feudal tower must arise in due majesty ; the figures which he 
introduces must have the costume and character of their age ; the 
piece must represent the peculiar features of the scene which he has 
chosen for his subject, with all its appropriate elevation of rock, or 
precipitate descent of cataract. His general colouring, too, must be 
copied from Nature: The sky must be clouded or serene, according 
to the climate, and the general tints must be those which prevail in 
a natural landscape. So far the painter is bound down by the rules 
of his art, to a precise imitation of the features of Nature; but it is 
not required that he should descend to copy all her more minute 
features, or represent with absolute exactness the very herbs, flowers, 
and trees, with which the spot is decorated. These, as well as all the 
more minute points of light and shadow, are attributes proper to 
scenery in general, natural to each situation, and subject to the 
artist’s disposal, as his taste or pleasure may dictate. 

It is true, that this license is confined in either case within legiti- 
mate bounds. The painter must introduce no ornament inconsistent 
with the climate or country of his landscape; he must not plant 
cypress trees upon Inch-Merrin, or Scottish firs among the ruins of 
Persepolis ; and the author lies under a corresponding restraint. 
However far he may venture in a more full detail of passions and 
feelings, than is to be found in the ancient compositions which he 
imitates, he must introduce nothing inconsistent with the manners of 
the age; his knights, squires, grooms, and yeomen, may be more fully 
drawn than in the hard, dry delineations of an ancient illuminated 
manuscript, but the character and costume of the age must remain 


AUTHOR'S PREFACE 


533 


inviolate; they must be the same figures, drawn by a better pencil, 
or, to speak more modestly, executed in an age when the principles 
of art were better understood. His language must not be exclusively 
obsolete and unintelligible; but he should admit, if possible, no word 
or turn of phraseology betraying an origin directly modern. It is one 
thing to make use of the language and sentiments which are common 
to ourselves and our forefathers, and it is another to invest them with 
the sentiments and dialect exclusively proper to their descendants. 

This, my dear friend, I have found the most difficult part of my 
task; and, to speak frankly, I hardly expect to satisfy your less par- 
tial judgment, and more extensive knowledge of such subjects, since 
I have hardly been able to please my own. 

I am conscious that I shall be found still more faulty in the tone of 
keeping and costume, by those who may lie disposed rigidly to examine 
my Tale, with reference to the manners of the exact period in which 
my actors flourished : It may be, that I have introduced little which 
can positively be termed modern ; but, on the other hand, it is 
extremely probable that I may have confused the manners of two or 
three centuries, and introduced, during the reign of Richard the First, 
circumstances appropriated to a period either considerably earlier, or 
a good deal later than that era. It is my comfort that errors of this 
kind will escape the general class of readers, and that I may share in 
the ill-deserved applause of those architects, who, in their modern 
Gothic, do not hesitate to introduce, without rule or method, orna- 
ments proper to different styles and to different periods of the art. 
Those whose extensive researches have given them the means of judg- 
ing my backslidings with more severity, will probably be lenient in 
proportion to their knowledge of the difficulty of my task. My honest 
and neglected friend, Ingulphus, has furnished me with many a valu- 
able hint; but the light afforded by the Monk of Croydon, and Geof- 
frey de Vinsauff, is dimmed by such a conglomeration of uninterest- 
ing and unintelligible matter, that we gladly fly for relief to the 
delightful pages of the gallant Froissart, although he flourished at a 
period so much more remote from the date of my history. If, there- 
fore, my dear friend, you have generosity enough to pardon the pre- 
sumptuous attempt, to frame for myself a minstrel coronet, partly 
out of the pearls of pure antiquity, and partly from the Bristol stones 
and paste, with which I have endeavoured to imitate them, I am con- 
vinced your opinion of the difficulty of the task will reconcile you to 
the imperfect manner of its execution. 

Of my materials I have but little to say : They may be chiefly found 
in the singular Anglo-Norman MS., which Sir Arthur Wardour pre- 
serves with such jealous care in the third drawer of his oaken cabinet, 
scarcely allowing any one to touch it, and being himself not able to 
read one syllable of its contents. I should never have got his consent, 
on my visit to Scotland, to read in those precious pages for so many 
hours, had I not promised to designate it by some emphatic mode of 
printing, as tlhiriiour Jltanuscript ; giving it, thereby, an individu- 
ality as important as the Bannatyne MS., the Auchinleck MS., and 
any other monument of the patience of a Gothic scrivener. I have 
sent, for your private consideration, a list of the contents of this 
curious piece, which I shall perhaps subjoin, with your approbation, 
to the third volume of my Tale, in case the printer’s devil should con- 


534 


APPENDIX 


tinue impatient for copy, when the whole of my narrative has been 
imposed. 

Adieu, my dear friend; I have said enough to explain, if not to 
vindicate, the attempt which I have made, and which, in spite of 
your doubts, and my own incapacity, I am still willing to believe has 
not been altogether made in vain. 

I hope you are now well recovered from your spring fit of the gout, 
and shall be happy if the advice of your learned physician should 
recommend a tour to these parts. Several curiosities have been lately 
dug up near the wall, as well as at the ancient station of Habitancum. 
Talking of the latter, I suppose you have long since heard the news, 
that a sulky churlish boor has destroyed the ancient statue, or rather 
bas-relief, popularly called Robin of Redesdale. It seems Robin’s 
fame attracted more visitants than was consistent with the growth 
of the heather, upon a moor worth a shilling an acre. Reverend as 
you write yourself, be revengeful for once, and pray with me that he 
may be visited with such a fit of the stone, as if he had all the frag- 
ments of poor Robin in that region of his viscera where the disease 
holds its seat. Tell this not in Gath, lest the Scots rejoice that they 
have at length found a parallel instance among their neighbours, to 
that barbarous deed which demolished Arthur’s Oven. But there is 
no end to lamentation, w r hen we betake ourselves to such subjects. 
My respectful compliments attend Miss Dryasdust; I endeavoured to 
match the spectacles agreeable to her commission, during my late 
journey to London, and hope she has received them safe, and found 
them satisfactory. I send this by the blind carrier, so that probably 
it may be some time upon its journey.* The last news which I hear 
from Edinburgh is, that the gentleman who fills the situation of Sec- 
retary to the Society of Antiquaries of Scotland,! is the best amateur 
draftsman in that kingdom, and that much is expected from his skill 
and zeal in delineating those specimen's of national antiquity, which 
are either mouldering under the slow touch of time, or swept away 
by modern taste, with the same besom of destruction which John 
Knox used at the Reformation. Once more adieu; vale tandem, non 
immemor mei. Believe me to be, 

Reverend, and very dear Sir, 

Your most faithful humble Servant, 

Laurence Templeton. 

Toppingwold, near Egremont, I 
Cumberland, Nov. 17, 1817. j 

* This anticipation proved but too true, as my learned correspondent did not receive 
my letter until a twelvemonth after it was written. I mention this circumstance, that 
a gentleman attached to the cause of learning, who now holds the principal control 
of the post-office, may consider whether by some mitigation of the present enormous 
rates, some favour might not be shown to the correspondents of the principal Literary 
and Antiquarian Societies. I understand, indeed, that this experiment was once 
tried, but that the mail-coach having broke down under the weight of packages ad- 
dressed to members of the Society of Antiquaries, it was relinquished as a hazard- 
ous experiment. Surely, however, it would be possible to build these vehicles in a 
form more substantial, stronger in the perch, and broader in the wheels, so as to sup- 
port the weight of Antiquarian learning ; when, if they should be found to travel 
more slowly, they would be not the less agreeable to quiet travellers like myself.— 

+ Mr. Skene of Rubislaw is here intimated, to whose taste and skill the author is 
indebted for a series of etchings, exhibiting the various localities alluded to in these 
novels. 


II 


AUTHOR'S INTRODUCTION (1830) 

The Author of the Waverley Novels had hitherto proceeded in an 
unabated course of popularity, and might, in his peculiar district of 
literature, have been termed I? Enfant Gate of success. It was 
plain, however, that frequent publication must finally wear out the 
public favour, unless some mode could be devised to give an appear- 
ance of novelty to subsequent productions. Scottish manners, Scot- 
tish dialect, and Scottish characters of note, being those with which 
the author was most intimately and familiarly acquainted, were the 
groundwork upon which he had hitherto relied for giving effect to 
his narrative. It was, however, obvious, that this kind of interest 
must in the end occasion a degree of sameness and repetition, if 
exclusively resorted to, and that the reader was likely at length to 
adopt the language of Edwin, in Parnell’s Tale : — 

“ ‘ Reverse the spell,’ he cries, 

* And let it fairly now suffice, 

The gambol has been shown.’ ” 

Nothing can be more dangerous for the fame of a professor of the 
fine arts, than to permit (if he can possibly prevent it) the character 
of a mannerist to be attached to him, or that he should be supposed 
capable of success only in a particular and limited style. The pub- 
lic are, in general, very ready to adopt the opinion that he who has 
pleased them in one peculiar mode of composition is, by means of 
that very talent, rendered incapable of venturing upon other sub- 
jects. The effect of this disinclination, on the part of the public, 
towards the artificers of their pleasures when they attempt to enlarge 
their means of amusing, may be seen in the censures usually passed 
by vulgar criticism upon actors or artists who venture to change the 
character of their efforts, that, in so doing, they may enlarge the 
scale of their art. 

There is some justice in this opinion, as there always is in such as 
attain general currency. It may often happen, on the stage, that an 
actor, by possessing in a pre-eminent degree the external qualities 
necessary to give effect to comedy, may be deprived of the right to 
aspire to tragic excellence ; and in painting or literary composition, 
an artist or poet may be master exclusively of modes of thought, and 
powers of expression, which confine him .to a single course of sub- 
jects. But much more frequently the same capacity which carries a 
man to popularity in one department will obtain for him success in 


536 


APPENDIX 


another, and that must be more particularly the case in literary 
composition than either in acting or painting, because the adven- 
turer in that department is not impeded in his exertions by any 
peculiarity of features, or conformation of person, proper for particu- 
lar parts, or by any peculiar mechanical habits of using the pencil, 
limited to a particular class of subjects. 

Whether this reasoning be correct or otherwise, the present author 
felt that in confining himself to subjects purely Scottish he was not 
only likely to weary out the indulgence of his readers, but also 
greatly to limit his own power of affording them pleasure. In a 
highly polished country, where so much genius is monthly employed 
in catering for public amusement, a fresh topic, such as he had 
himself had the happiness to light upon, is the untasted spring of 
the desert : — 

“Men bless their stars and call it luxury.” 

But w T hen men and horses, cattle, camels, and dromedaries, have 
poached the spring into mud, it becomes loathsome to those who at 
first drank of it with rapture ; and he who had the merit of discover- 
ing it, if he would preserve his reputation with the tribe, must dis- 
play his talent by a fresh discovery of untasted fountains. 

If the author who finds himself limited to a particular class of sub- 
jects endeavours to sustain his reputation by striving to add a 
novelty of attraction to themes of the same character which have 
been formerly successful under his management, there are manifest 
reasons why, after a certain point, he is likely to fail. If the mine 
be not wrought out, the strength and capacity of the miner become 
necessarily exhausted. If he closely imitates the narratives which 
he has before rendered successful, he is doomed to “wonder that 
they please no more.” If he struggles to take a different view of the 
same class of subjects, he speedily discovers that what is obvious, 
graceful, and natural has been exhausted ; and, in order to obtain 
the indispensable charm of novelty, he is forced upon caricature, 
and to avoid being trite must become extravagant. 

It is not, perhaps, necessary to enumerate so many reasons why 
the author of the Scottish Novels, as they were then exclusively 
termed, should be desirous to make an experiment on a subject 
purely English. It was his purpose, at the same time, to have ren- 
dered the experiment as complete as possible, by bringing the 
intended work before the public as the effort of a new candidate for 
their favour, in order that no degree of prejudice, whether favour- 
able or the reverse, might attach to it, as a new production of the 
Author of Waverley ; but this intention was afterwards departed 
from, for reasons to be hereafter mentioned. 

The period of the narrative adopted was the reign of Richard I, 
not only as abounding with characters whose very names were sure 
to attract general attention, but as affording a striking contrast 
betwixt the Saxons, by whom the soil was cultivated, and the Nor- 
mans, who still reigned in it as conquerors, reluctant to mix with the 
vanquished, or acknowledge themselves of the same stock. The idea 
of this contrast was taken from the ingenious and unfortunate 
Logan’s tragedy of Eimnamede, in which, about the same period of 


AUTHOR'S INTRODUCTION 


53 ? 


history, the author had seen the Saxon and Norman barons opposed 
to each other on different sides of the stage. He does not recollect 
that there was any attempt to contrast the two races in their habits 
and sentiments; and, indeed, it was obvious that history was violated 
by introducing the Saxons still existing as a high-minded and 
martial race of nobles. 

They did, however, survive as a people, and some of the ancient 
Saxon families possessed wealth and power, although they were 
exceptions to the humble condition of the race in general. It 
seemed to the author that the existence of the two races in the same 
country, the vanquished distinguished by their plain, homely, blunt 
manners, and the free spirit infused by their ancient institutions and 
laws ; the victors, by the high spirit of military fame, personal 
adventure, and whatever could distinguish them as the Flower of 
Chivalry, might, intermixed with other characters belonging to the 
same time and country, interest the reader bv the contrast, if the 
author should not fail on his part. 

Scotland, however, had been of late used so exclusively as the 
scene of what is called Historical Romance, that the preliminary let- 
ter of Mr. Laurence Templeton became in some measure necessary. 
To this, as to an Introduction, the reader is referred, as expressing 
the author’s purpose and opinions in undertaking this species of com- 
position, under the necessary reservation that he is far from thinking 
he has attained the point at which he aimed. 

It is scarcely necessary to add, that there was no idea or wish to 
pass off the supposed Mr. Templeton as a real person. But a kind 
of continuation of the Tales of My Landlord had been recently 
attempted by a stranger, and it was supposed this Dedicatory 
Epistle might pass for some imitation of the same kind, and thus 
putting enquirers upon a false scent, induce them to believe they had 
before them the work of some new candidate for their favour. 

After a considerable part of the work had been finished and 
printed, the Publishers, who pretended to discern in it a germ of 
popularity, remonstrated strenuously against its appearing as an 
absolutely anonymous production, and contended that it should have 
the advantage of being announced as by the Author of Waverley. 
The author did not make any obstinate opposition, for he began to 
be of opinion with Dr. Wheeler, in Miss Edgeworth’s excellent tale 
of Manoeuvring , that “ Trick upon Trick” might be too much for 
the patience of an indulgent public, and might be reasonably consid- 
ered as trifling with their favour, i 

The book, therefore, appeared as an avowed continuation of the 
Waverley Novels ; and it would be ungrateful not to acknowledge 
that it met with the same favourable reception as its predecessors. 

Such annotations as may be useful to assist the reader in compre- 
hending the characters of the Jew, the Templar, the Captain of the 
mercenaries, or Free Companions, as they were called, and others 
proper to the period, are added, but with a sparing hand, since suf- 
ficient information on these subjects is to be found in general 
history. 

An incident in the tale, which had the good fortune to find favour 
in the eyes of many readers, is more directly borrowed from the 
stores of old romance. I mean the meeting of the King with Friar 


538 


APPENDIX 


Tuck at the cell of that buxom hermit. The general tone of the 
story belongs to all ranks and all countries, which emulate each 
other in describing the rambles of a disguised sovereign, who, going 
in search of information or amusement into the lower ranks of life, 
meets with adventures diverting to the reader or hearer, from the 
contrast betwixt the monarch’s outward appearance and his real 
character. The Eastern tale-teller has for his theme the disguised 
expeditions of Haroun Alraschid with his faithful attendants Mes- 
rour and Giafar, through the midnight streets of Bagdad ; and 
Scottish tradition dwells upon the similar exploits of James V, dis- 
tinguished during such excursions by the travelling name of the 
Goodman of Ballengeigh, as the Commander of the Faithful, when 
he desired to be incognito, was known by that of II Bondocani. 
The French minstrels are not silent on so popular a theme. There 
must have been a Norman original of the Scottish metrical romance 
of Rauf Colziar , in which Charlemagne is introduced as the unknown 
guest of a cliarcoal-man.* It seems to have been the original of 
other poems of the kind. 

In merry England there is no end of popular ballads on this 
theme. The poem of John the Reeve, or Steward, mentioned by 
Bishop Percy, in the Reliques of English Poetry, f is said to have 
turned on such an incident ; and we have, besides, the King and the 
Tanner of Tamworth, the King and the Miller of Mansfield, and 
others on the same topic. But the peculiar tale of this nature to 
which the author of Ivanhoe has to acknowledge an obligation is 
more ancient by two centuries than any of these last mentioned. 

It was first communicated to the public in that curious record of 
ancient literature which has been accumulated by the combined 
exertions of Sir Egerton Brydges and Mr. Hazlewood, in the periodi- 
cal work entitled the British Bibliographer. From thence it has 
been transferred by the Reverend Charles Henry Hartshorne, M.A., 
editor of a very curious volume, entitled Ancient Metrical Tales, 
printed chiefly from original sources, 1829. Mr. Hartshorne gives 
no other authority for the present fragment, except the article in the 
Bibliographer, where it is entitled “The Kyng and the Hermite.” 
A short abstract of its contents will show its similarity to the meeting 
of King Richard and Friar Tuck. 

King Edward (we are not told which among the monarchs of that 
name, but, from his temper and habits, we may suppose Edward IY) 
sets forth with his court to a gallant hunting-match in Sherwood For- 
est, in which, as is not unusual for princes in romance, he falls in with 
a deer of extraordinary size and swiftness, and pursues it closely, till 
he has outstripped his whole retinue, tired out hounds and horse, 
and finds himself alone under the gloom of an extensive forest upon 
which night is descending. Under the apprehensions natural to a 
situation so uncomfortable, the King recollects that he has heard how 
poor men, when apprehensive of a bad night’s lodging, pray to 
Saint Julian, who, in the Romish calendar, stands Quartermaster- 
General to all forlorn travellers that render him due homage. 

* This very curious poem, long a desideratum in Scottish literature, and given up 
as irrecoverably lost, was lately brought to light by the researches of Dr. Irvine of 
the Advocates’ Library, and has been reprinted by Mr. David Laing, Edinburgh. 

t Yol. ii, p. 167. [Scott.] 


AUTHOR'S INTRODUCTION 


539 


Edward puts up his orisons accordingly, and by the guidance, doubt- 
less, of the good Saint, reaches a small path, conducting him to a 
chapel in the forest, having a hermit’s cell in its close vicinity. The 
King hears the reverend man, with a companion of his solitude, tell- 
ing his beads within, and meekly requests of him quarters for the 
night. “I have no accommodation for such a lord as ye be,” said 
the Hermit. “I live here in the wilderness upon roots and rinds, 
and may not receive into my dwelling even the poorest wretch that 
lives, unless it were to save his life.” The King enquires the way to 
the next town, and, understanding it is by a road which he cannot 
find without difficulty, even if he had daylight to befriend him, he 
declares that, with or without the Hermit’s consent, he is determined 
to be his guest that night. He is admitted accordingly, not without 
a hint from the Recluse that, were he himself out of his priestly 
weeds, he would care little for his threats of using violence, and that 
he gives way to him not out of intimidation, but simply to avoid 
scandal. 

The King is admitted into the cell — two bundles of straw are 
shaken down for his accommodation, and he comforts himself that 
he is now under shelter, and that 

“ A night will soon he gone.” 

Other wants, however, arise. The guest becomes clamorous for 
supper, observing, 


“ For certainly, as I you say, 

I ne had never so sorry a day, 

That I ne had a merry night.” 

But this indication of his taste for good cheer, joined to the 
annunciation of his being a follower of the Court, who had lost him- 
self at the great hunting-match, cannot induce the niggard Hermit 
to produce better fare than bread and cheese, for which his guest 
showed little appetite: and “ thin drink,” which was even less accep- 
table. At length the King presses his host on a point to which he 
had more than once alluded without obtaining a satisfactory reply: 


“ Then said the King, * by Godys grace, 
Thou wert in a merry place, 

To shoot should thou lere ; 

When the foresters go to rest, 

Sometyme thou might have of the best. 
All of the wild deer ; 

I wold hold it for no scathe, 

Though thou hadst bow and arrows baith, 
AltholE thou best a Frere.’ ” 


The Hermit, in return, expresses his apprehension that his guest 
means to drag him into some confession of offence against the forest 
laws, which, being betrayed to the King, might cost him his life. 
Edward answers by fresh assurances of secrecy, and again urges on 
him the necessity of procuring some venison. The Hermit replies, 
by once more insisting on the duties incumbent upon him as a 


540 


APPENDIX 


churchman, and continues to affirm himself free from all such 
breaches of order: 

“ Many day I have here been, 

And flesh-meat I eat never, 

But milk of the kye ; 

Warm thee well, and go to sleep, 

And I will lap thee with my cope, 

Softly to lye.” 

It would seem that the manuscript is here imperfect, for we do not 
find the reasons which finally induce the curtal Friar to amend the 
King’s cheer. But acknowledging his guest to be such a “ good 
fellow ” as has seldom graced his board, the holy man at length pro- 
duces the best his cell affords. Two candles are placed on a table, 
white bread and baked pasties are displayed by the light, besides 
choice of venison, both salt and fresh, from which they select col- 
lops. “I might have eaten my bread dry,” said the King, “had I 
not pressed thee on the score of archery, but now have I dined like a 
prince — if we had but drink enow.” 

This too is afforded by the hospitable anchorite, who dispatches an 
assistant to fetch a pot of four gallons from a secret corner near his 
bed, and the whole three set in to serious drinking. This amusement 
is superintended by the Friar, according to the recurrence of certain 
fustian words, to be repeated by every compotator in turn before he 
drank — a species of High Jinks, as it were, by which they regulated 
their potations, as toasts were given in latter times. The one toper 
says, fusty bandias, to which the other is obliged to reply, strike 
pantnere, and the Friar passes many jests on the King’s want of 
memory, who sometimes forgets the words of action. The night is 
spent in this jolly pastime. Before his departure in the morning, 
the King invites his reverend host to Court, promises at least to 
requite his hospitality, and expresses himself much pleased with his 
entertainment. The jolly Hermit at length agrees to venture 
thither, and to enquire for Jack Fletcher, which is the name- 
assumed by the King. After the Hermit has shown Edward some 
feats of archery, the joyous pair separate. The King rides home, 
and rejoins his retinue. As the romance is imperfect, we are not 
acquainted how the discovery takes place; but it is probably much in 
the same manner as in other narratives turning on the same subject, 
where the host, apprehensive of death for having trespassed on the 
respect due to his Sovereign while incognito, is agreeably surprised 
by receiving honours and reward. 

In Mr. Hartshorne’s collection, there is a romance on the same 
foundation, called King Edward and the Shepherd ,* which, consid- 
ered as illustrating manners, is still more curious than the King and 
the Hermit ; but it is foreign to the present purpose. The reader has 
here the original legend from which the incident in the romance is 
derived ; and the identifying the irregular Eremite with the Friar 
Tuck of Kobin Hood’s story was an obvious expedient. . 

* Like the Hermit, the Shepherd makes havoek amongst the King’s game ; but by 
means of a sling, not of a bow ; like the Hermit, too, he has his peculiar phrases of 
compotation, the sign and countersign being Passelodion and Berafriend. One can 
scarce conceive what humour our ancestors found in this species of gibberish ; but 

“ I warrant it proved an excuse for the glass.” 


[Scott.] 


AUTHOR'S INTRODUCTION 


541 


; The naiiie of I van hoe was suggested by an old rhyme. All novel- 
ists have had occasion at some time or other to wish, with Falstaff, 
that they knew where a commodity of good names was to be had. 
On such an occasion the author chanced to call to memory a rhyme 
recording three names of the manors forfeited by the ancestor of the 
celebrated Hampden, for striking the Black Prince a blow with his 
racket, when they quarrelled at tennis ; — 

“ Tring, Wing, and Ivanhoe, 

For striking of a blow, 

Hampden did forego, 

And glad he could escape so.” 

The word suited the author’s purpose in two material respects, — 
for, first, it had an ancient English sound ; and secondly, it conveyed 
no indication whatever of the nature of the story. He presumes to 
hold this last quality to be of no small importance. What is called 
a taking title serves the direct interest of the bookseller or pub- 
lisher, who by this means sometimes sells an edition while it is yet 
passing the press. But if the author permits an over degree of 
attention to be drawn to his work ere it has appeared, he places him- 
self in the embarrassing condition of having excited a degree of 
expectation which, if he proves unable to satisfy, is an error fatal to 
his literary reputation. Besides, when we meet such a title as the 
Gunpowder Plot, or any other connected with general history, each 
reader, before he has seen the book, has formed to himself some par- 
ticular idea of the sort of manner in which the story is to be con- 
ducted, and the nature of the amusement which he is to derive from 
it. In this he is probably disappointed, and in that case may be natu- 
rally disposed to visit upon the author or the work the unpleasant 
feelings thus excited. In such a case the literary adventurer is cen- 
sured, not for having missed the mark at which he himself aimed, 
but for not having shot off his shaft in a direction he never 
thought of. 

On the footing of unreserved communication which the Author 
has established with the reader, he may here add the trifling circum- 
stance that a roll of Norman warriors, occurring in the Auchinleck 
Manuscript, gave him the formidable name of Front-de-Boeuf. 

Ivanhoe was highly successful upon its appearance, and may be 
said to have procured for its author the freedom of the Rules, since 
he has ever since been permitted to exercise his powers of fictitious 
composition in England as well as Scotland. 

The character of the fair Jewess found so much favour in the eyes of 
some fair readers that the writer was censured because, when arrang- 
ing the fates of the characters of the drama, he had not assigned the 
hand of Wilfred to Rebecca, rather than the less interesting Rowena. 
But, not to mention that the prejudices of the age rendered such 
an union almost impossible, the author may, in passing, observe 
that he thinks a character of a highly virtuous and lofty stamp is 
degraded rather than exalted by an attempt to reward virtue with 
temporal prosperity. Such is not the recompense which Providence 
has deemed worthy of suffering merit, and it is a dangerous and 
fatal doctrine to teach young persons, the most common readers of 
romance, that rectitude of conduct and of principle are either natu- 


542 


APPENDIX 


rally allied with, or adequately rewarded by, the gratification of our 
passions or attainment of our wishes. In a word, if a virtuous and 
self-denied character is dismissed with temporal wealth, greatness, 
rank, or the indulgence of such a rashly formed or ill-assorted pas- 
sion as that of Rebecca for Ivanhoe, the reader will be apt to say, 
verily Virtue has had its reward. But a glance on the great picture 
of life will show that the duties of self-denial and the sacrifice of 
passion to principle are seldom thus remunerated ; and that the 
internal consciousness of their high-minded discharge of duty pro- 
duces on their own reflections a more adequate recompense, in the 
form of that peace which the world cannot give or take away. 

Abbotsford, 

1st September, 1830. 


Ill 


AUTHOR’S NOTES 


Note A. — The Ranger of the Forest 

A most sensible grievance of those aggrieved times were the Forest 
Laws. These oppressive enactments were the produce of the Norman 
Conquest, for the Saxon laws of the chase were mild and humane; 
while those of William, enthusiastically attached to the exercise and 
its rights, were to the last degree tyrannical. The formation of the 
New Forest bears evidence tp his passion for hunting, where he 
reduced many a happy village to the condition of that one commem- 
orated by my friend, Mr. William Stewart Rose: 

“ Amongst the ruins of the church 
The midnight raven found a perch, 

A melancholy place ; 

The ruthless Conqueror cast down, 

Woe worth the deed, that little town, 

To lengthen out hia chase.” 

The disabling dogs, which might be necessary for keeping flocks 
and herds, from running at the deer, was called leaving, and was in 
general use. The Charter of the Forest designed to lessen those evils, 
declares that inquisition, or view, for lawing dogs shall be made every 
third year, and shall be then done by the view and testimony of law- 
ful men, not otherwise; and they whose dogs shall be then found 
unlawed, shall give three shillings for mercy, and for the future no 
man’s ox shall be taken for lawing. Such lawing also shall be done 
by the assize commonly used, and which is, that three claws shall be 
cut off without the ball of the right foot. See on this subject the 
Historical Essay on the Magna Cliarta of King John (a most beauti- 
ful volume), by Richard Thomson. 


Note B. — Negro Slaves 

The severe accuracy of some critics has objected to the complexion 
of the slaves of Brian de Bois-Guilbert, as being totally out of costume 
and propriety. I remember the same objection being made to a set 
of sable functionaries whom my friend, Mat Lewis, introduced as the 
guards and mischief-doing satellites of the wicked Baron in his Castle 


544 


APPENDIX 


Spectre. Mat treated the objection with great contempt, and averred 
in reply that he made the slaves black in order to obtain a striking 
effect of contrast, and that, could he have derived a similar advantage 
from making his heroine blue, blue she should have been. 

I do not pretend to plead the immunities of my order so highly as 
this; but neither will I allow that the author of a modern antique 
romance is obliged to confine himself to the introduction of those 
manners only which can be proved to have absolutely existed in the 
times he is depicting, so that he restrain himself to such as are plausi- 
ble and natural, and contain no obvious anachronism. In this point 
of view, what can be more natural than that the Templars, who, we 
know, copied closely the luxuries of the Asiatic warriors with whom 
they fought, should use the service of the enslaved Africans, whom 
the fate of war transferred to new masters ? I am sure, if there are 
no precise proofs of their having done so, there is nothing, on the 
other hand, that can entitle us positively to conclude that they never 
did. Besides, there is an instance in romance. 

John of Rampayne, an excellent juggler and minstrel, undertook 
to effect the escape of one Audulf de Bracy, by presenting himself in 
disguise at the court of the king, where he was confined. For this 
purpose “ he stained his hair and his whole body entirely as black as 
jet, so that nothing was white but his teeth,” and succeeded in impos- 
ing himself on the king as an Ethiopian minstrel. He effected, by 
stratagem, the escape of the prisoner. Negroes, therefore, must have 
been known in England in the dark ages.* 


Note C. — Minstrelsy 

The realm of France, it is well known, was divided betwixt the 
Norman and Teutonic race, who spoke the language in which the 
word Yes is pronounced as oui, and the inhabitants of the southern 
regions, whose speech, bearing some affinity to the Italian, pronounced 
the same word oc. The poets of the former race were called Minstrels, 
and their poems lays : those of the latter were termed Troubadours, 
and their compositions called sirventes, and other names. Richard, 
a professed admirer of the joyous science in all its branches, could 
imitate either the minstrel or troubadour. It is less likely that he 
should have been able to compose or sing an English ballad ; yet so 
much do we wish to assimilate him of the Lion Heart to the band of 
warriors whom he led, that the anachronism, if there be one, may 
readily be forgiven. 


Note D. — Battle of Stamford 

A great topographical blunder occurred here in former editions. 
The bloody battle alluded to in the text, fought and won by King 
Harold over his brother, the rebellious Tosti, and an auxiliary force 
of Hanes or Norsemen, was said in the text and a corresponding note 

* Dissertation on Romance and Minstrelsy , prefixed to Ritson’s Ancient Metrical 
Romances , p. clxxxvii. 


AUTHOR’S NOTES 


545 


to have taken place at Stamford in Leicestershire, and upon the river 
Welland. This is a mistake into which the author has been led by 
trusting to his memory, and so confounding two places of the same 
name. The Stamford, Strangford, or Staneford, at which the battle 
really was fought, is a ford upon the river Derwent, at the distance 
of about seven miles from York, and situated in that large and 
opulent county. A long wooden bridge over the Derwent, the site of 
which, with one remaining buttress, is still shown to the curious 
traveller, was furiously contested. One Norwegian long defended it 
by his single arm, and was at length pierced with a spear thrust 
through the planks of the bridge from a boat beneath. 

The neighbourhood of Stamford on the Derwent contains some 
memorials of the battle. Horseshoes, swords, and the heads of hal- 
berds, or bills, are often found there; one place is called the “ Danes’ 
Well,” another the “ Battle Flats.” From a tradition that the 
weapon with which the Norwegian champion was slain resembled a 
pear, or, as others say, that the trough or boat in which the soldier 
floated under the bridge to strike the blow had such a shape, the 
country people usually begin a great market, which is held at Stam- 
ford, with an entertainment called the Pear-pie feast., which, after 
all, may be a corruption of the Spear-pie feast. For more particulars, 
-Drake’s History of York may be referred to. The author’s mistake 
was pointed out to him, in the most obliging manner, by .Robert 
Belt, Esq., of Bossal House. The battle was fought in 1006. 


Note E. — The Range of Iron Bars 

This horrid species of torture may remind the reader of that to 
which the Spaniards subjected Guatimozin in order to extort a dis- 
covery of his concealed wealth. But, in fact, an instance of similar 
barbarity is to be found nearer home, and occurs in the annals of Queen 
Mary’s time, containing so many other examples of atrocity. Every 
reader must recollect that after the fall of the Catholic Church, and 
the Presbyterian Church Government had been established by law, 
the rank, and especially the wealth, of the Bishops, Abbots, Priors, 
and so forth, were no longer vested in ecclesiastics, but in lay impro- 
priators of the church revenues, or, as the Scottish lawyers called 
them, titulars of the temporalities of the benefice, though having no 
claim to the spiritual character of their predecessors in office. 

Of these laymen who were thus invested with ecclesiastical reve- 
nues, some were men of high birth and rank, like the famous Lord 
James Stewart, the Prior of St. Andrews, who did not fail to keep 
for their own use the rents, lands, and revenues of the church. But 
if, on the other hand, the titulars were men of inferior importance, 
who had been inducted into the office by the interest of some power- 
ful person, it was generally understood that the new Abbot should 
grant for his patron’s benefit such leases and conveyances of the 
church lands and tithes as might afford their protector the lion’s share 
of the booty. This was the origin of those who were wittily termed 
Tulchan * Bishops, being a sort of imaginary prelate, whose image 

* A Tulchan is a calf’s skin stuffed, and placed before a cow who has lost its calf, 
to induce the animal to part with her milk. The resemblance between such a Tulchan 

35 


546 


APPENDIX 


was set up to enable his patron and principal to plunder the benefice 
under his name. 

There were other cases, however, in which men who had got grants 
of these secularised benefices were desirous of retaining them for 
their own use, without having the influence sufficient to establish their 
purpose ; and these became frequently unable to protect themselves, 
however unwilling to submit to the exactions of the feudal tyrant of 
the district. 

Bannatyne, secretary to John Knox, recounts a singular course of 
oppression practised on one of those titular abbots by the Earl of 
Cassilis in Ayrshire, whose extent of feudal influence was so wide 
that he was usually termed the King of Garrick. We give the fact as 
it occurs in Bannatyne’s Journal , only premising that the Journalist 
held his master’s opinions both with respect to the Earl of Cassilis as 
an opposer of the king’s party and as being a detester of the practice 
of granting church revenues to titulars instead of their being devoted 
to pious uses, such as the support of the clergy, expense of schools, 
and the relief of the national poor. He mingles in the narrative, 
therefore, a well-deserved feeling of execration against the tyrant 
who employed the torture with a tone of ridicule towards the 
patient, as if, after all, it had not been ill bestowed on such an equi- 
vocal and amphibious character as a titular abbot. He entitles iiis 
narrative, 


The Earl of Cassilis’ Tyranny against a Quick (i.e., Living) Man 

“Master Allan Stewart, friend to Captain James Stewart of Car- 
donall, by means of the Queen’s corrupted court, obtained the Abbey 
of Crossraguel. The said Earl thinking himself greater than any 
king in those quarters, determined to have that whole benefice (as he 
hath divers others) to pay at his pleasure ; and because he could not 
find sic security as his insatiable appetite required, this shift was 
devised. The said Mr. Allan being in company with the Laird of 
Bargany, (also a Kennedy,) was, by the Earl and his friends, enticed to 
leave the safeguard which he had' with the Laird, and come to make 
good cheer with the said Earl. The simplicity of the imprudent man 
was suddenly abused; and so he passed his time with them certain 
days, which he did in Maybole with Thomas Kennedie, uncle to the 
said Earl: after which the said Mr. Allan passed, with quiet com- 
pany, to visit the place and bounds of Crossraguel, [his abbacy,] of 
which the said Earl being surely advertised, determined to put in 
practice the tyranny which long before he had conceaved. And so, 
as king of the country, apprehended the said Mr. Allan, and carried 
him to the house, of Denure, where for a season he was honourably 
treated, (gif a prisoner can think any entertainment pleasing;) but 
after that certain days were spent, and that the Earl could not obtain 
the feus of Crossraguel according to his awin appetite, he determined 
to prove gif a collation could work that which neither dinner nor 
supper could do for a long time. And so the said Mr. Allan was car- 
ried to a secret chamber: with him passed the honourable Earl, his 

and a Bishop named to transmit -tile temporalities of a benefice to some powerful 
patron is easily understood. 


AUTHOR'S NOTES 


547 


worshipful brother, and such as were appointed to be servants at that 
banquet. In the chamber there was a grit iron chimlay, under it a 
lire; other grit provision was not seen. The first course was, — ‘ My 
Lord Abbot,’ (said the Earl,) ‘ it will please you confess here, that 
with your own consent you remain in my company, because ye durst 
not commit yourself to the hands of others.’ The Abbot answered, 
'Would you, my lord, that I should make a manifest lie for your 
pleasure ? The truth is, my lord, it is against my will that I am here; 
neither yet have I any pleasure in your company.’ ‘But ye shall 
remain with me, nevertheless, at this time,’ said the Earl. ‘I am 
not able to resist your will and pleasure,’ said the Abbot, ‘in this 
place.’ ‘ Ye must then obey me,’ said the Earl, — and with that were 
presented unto him certain letters to subscribe, amongst which there 
was a five years’ tack, and a nineteen years’ tack, and a charter of feu 
of all the lands of Crossraguel, with all the clauses necessary for the 
Earl to haste him to hell. For gif adultery, sacrilege, oppression, 
barbarous cruelty, and theft heaped upon theft, deserve hell, the great 
King of Garrick can no more escape hell for ever, than the imprudent 
Abbot escaped the fire for a season as follows. 

“ After that the Earl spied repugnance, and saw that he could not 
come to his purpose by fair means, he commanded his cooks to prepare 
the banquet: and so first they flayed the sheep, that is, they took off 
the Abbot’s cloathes even to his skin, and next they bound him to the 
chimney — his legs to the one end, and his arms to the other; and so 
they began to beet [i.e., feed] the fire sometimes to his buttocks, 
sometimes to his legs, sometimes to his shoulders and arms; and that 
the roast might not burn, but that it might rest in soppe, they spared 
not flambing with oil, (basting as a cook bastes roasted meat); Lord, 
look thou to sic cruelty ! And that the crying of the miserable man 
should not be heard, they closed his mouth that the voice might be 
stopped. It may be suspected that some partisan of the King’s 
[Darnley’s] murder was there. In that torment they held the poor 
man, till that often lie cried for God’s sake to dispatch him ; for he 
had as meikle gold in his awin purse as would buy powder enough to 
shorten his pain. The famous King of Carrick and his cooks perceiv- 
ing the roast to be aneuch, commanded it to be tane fra the fire, 
and the Earl himself began the grace in this manner: — ‘Benedicite, 
Jesus Maria , you are the most obstinate man that ever I saw; gif I 
had known that ye had been so stubborn, I would not for a thousand 
crowns have handled you so; I never did so to man before you.’ And 
yet he returned to the same practice within two days, and ceased not 
till that he obtained his formost purpose, that is, that he had got all 
his pieces subscryvit alsweill as ane half-roasted hand could do it. 
The Earl thinking himself sure enough so long as he had the half- 
roasted Abbot in his awin keeping, and yet being ashamed of his 
presence by reason of his former cruelty, left the place of Denure in 
the hands of certain of his servants, and the half -roasted Abbot to be 
kept there as prisoner. The Laird of Bargany, out of whose com- 
pany the said Abbot had been enticed, understanding (not the extrem- 
ity,) but the retaining of the man, sent to the court, and raised letters 
of deliverance of the person of the man according to the order, which 
being disobeyed, the said Earl for i„s contempt was denounced rebel, 
and put to the horne. But yet hope was Uiere none, neither to the 


548 


APPENDIX 


afflicted to be delivered, neither yet to the purchaser [i.e., procurer] 
of the letters to obtain any comfort thereby; for in that time God was 
despised, and the lawful authority was contemned in Scotland, in 
hope of the sudden return and regiment of that cruel murderer of her 
a win husband, of whose lords the said Earl was called one; and yet, 
oftener than once, he was solemnly sworn to the King and to his 
Regent.” 

The Journalist then recites the complaint of the injured Allan 
Stewart, Coinmendator of Crossraguel, to the Regent and Privy 
Council, averring his having been carried, partly by flattery, partly 
by force, to the black vault of Denure, a strong fortalice, built on a 
rock overhanging the Irish channel, where its ruins are st ill visible. 
Here he stated he had been required to execute leases and conveyances 
of the whole churches and parsonages belonging to the Abbey of 
Crossraguel, which lie utterly refused as an unreasonable demand, 
and the more so that he had already conveyed them to John Stewart 
of Cardonall, by whose interest he had been made Commendator. 
The complainant proceeds to state, that he was, after many menaces, 
stript, bound, and his limbs exposed to fire in the manner already 
described, till, compelled by excess of agony, he subscribed the charter 
and leases presented to him, of the contents of which he was totally 
ignorant. A few days afterwards, being again required to execute a 
ratification of these deeds before a notary and witnesses, and refusing 
to do so, he was once more subjected to the same torture, until his 
agony was so excessive that he exclaimed, “ Fye on you, why do you 
not strike your whingers into me, or blow me up with a barrel of 
powder, rather than torture me thus unmercifully ?” upon which the 
Earl commanded Alexander Richard, one of his attendants, to stop 
the patient’s mouth with a napkin, which was done accordingly. Thus 
he was once more compelled to submit to their tyranny. The petition 
concluded with stating, that the Earl, under pretence of the deeds 
thus iniquitously obtained, had taken possession of the whole place 
and living of Crossraguel, and enjoyed the profits thereof for three 
years. 

The doom of the Regent and Council shows singularly the total 
interruption of justice at this calamitous period, even in the most 
clamant cases of oppression. The Council declined interference with 
the course of the ordinary justice of the county, (which was completely 
under the said Earl of Cassilis’ control,) and only enacted that he 
should forbear molestation of the unfortunate Commendator, under 
the surety of two thousand pounds Scots. The Earl was appointed 
also to keep the peace towards the celebrated George Buchanan, who 
had a pension out of the same Abbacy, to a similar extent, and under 
the like penalty. 

The consequences are thus described by the Journalist already 
quoted. 

“ The said Laird of Bargany perceiving that the ordiner justice 
could neither help the oppressed, nor yet the afflicted, applied his 
mind to the next remedy, and in the end, by his servants, took the 
house of Denure, where the poor Abbot was kept prisoner. The bruit 
flew fra Carrick to Galloway, and so suddenly assembled herd and 
hyre-man that pertained to the band of the Kennedies; and so within 
a few hours was the house of Denure environed again. The master of 


AUTHOR'S NOTES 


549 


Cassilis was the frackast \i.e., the readiest or boldest] and would not 
stay, but in his heat would lay fire to the dungeon, with no small 
boasting that all enemies within the house should die. 

“ He was required and admonished by those that were within to be 
more moderate, and not to hazard himself so foolishly. But no ad- 
monition would help, till that the wind of an hacquebute blasted his 
shoulder, and then ceased he from further pursuit in fury. The Laird 
of Bargany had before purchest [obtained] of the authorities, letters, 
charging all faithfull subjects to the King’s Majesty, to assist him 
against that cruel tyrant and mansworn traitor, the Earl of Cassilis; 
which letters, with his private writings, he published, and shortly 
found sic concurrence of Kyle and Cunynghame with his other friends, 
that the Carrick company drew back fra the house : and so the other 
approached, furnished the house with more men, delivered the said 
Mr. Allan, and carried him to Ayr, where, publicly at the market 
cross of the said town, he declared how cruelly he was entreated, and 
how the murdered King suffered not sic torment as he did, excepting 
only he escaped the death : and, therefore, publickly did revoke all 
things that were done in that extremity, and especially he revoked 
the subscription of the three writings, to wit, of a fyve yeir tack and 
nineteen year tack, and of a charter of feu. And so the house 
remained, and remains (till this day, the 7th of February, 1571,) in 
the custody of the said Laird of Bargany and of his servants. And so 
cruelty was disappointed of proffeit present, and shall be eternal! ie 
punished, unless he earnestly repent. And this far for the cruelty 
committed, to give occasion unto others, and to such as hate the 
monstrous dealing of degenerate nobility, to look more diligently 
upon their behaviours, and to paint them forth unto the world, that 
they themselves may be ashamed of their own beastliness, and that 
the world may be advertised and admonished to abhor, detest, and 
avoid the company of all sic tyrants, who are not worthy of the society 
of men, but ought to be sent suddenly to the devil, with whom they 
must burn without end, for their contempt of God, and cruelty com- 
mitted against his creatures. Let Cassilis and his brother be the first 
to be the example unto others. Amen. Amen.” * 

Tins extract has been somewhat amended or modernized in ortho- 
graphy, to render it more intelligible to the general reader. I have 
to add, that the Kennedies of Bargany, who interfered in behalf of 
the oppressed Abbot, were themselves a younger branch of the Cassilis 
family, but held different politics, and were powerful enough in this, 
and other instances, to bid them defiance. 

The ultimate issue of this affair does not appear; but as the house 
of Cassilis are still in possession of the greater part of the fens and 
leases which belonged to Crossraguel Abbey, it is probable the talons 
of the King of Carrick were strong enough, in those disorderly times, 
to retain the prey which they had so mercilessly fixed upon. 

I may also add, that it appears by some papers in my possession, 
that the officers or Country Keepers on the border, were accustomed 
to torment their prisoners by binding them to the iron bars of their 
chimneys, to extort confession. 

* Bannatyne’s Journal. 


550 


APPENDIX 


Note F. — Heraldry 

The author has been here upbraided with false heraldry, as having 
charged metal upon metal. It should be remembered, however, that 
heraldry had only its first rude origin during the crusades, and that 
all the minutiae of its fantastic science were the work of time, and 
introduced at a much later period. Those who think otherwise must 
suppose that the Goddess of Armoirers, like the Goddess of Arms, 
sprung into the world completely equipped in all the gaudy trappings 
of the department she presides over. 

In corroboration of what is above stated, it may be observed that 
the arms which were assumed by Godfrey of Boulogne himself, after 
the conquest of Jerusalem, was a cross counter patent cantoned with 
four little crosses or, upon a field azure, displaying thus metal upon 
metal. The heralds have tried to explain this undeniable fact in 
different modes — but Feme gallantly contends, that a prince of God- 
frey’s qualities should not be bound by the ordinary rules. The 
Scottish Nisbet, and the same Ferae, insist that the chiefs of the 
Crusade must have assigned to Godfrey this extraordinary and un- 
wonted coat-of-arms, in order to induce those who should behold them 
to make enquiries; and hence give them the name of arma inqui- 
renda. But with reverence to these grave authorities, it seems un- 
likely that the assembled princes of Europe should have adjudged to 
Godfrey a coat armorial so much contrary to the general rule, if such 
rule had then existed; at any rate, it proves that metal upon metal, 
now accounted a solecism in heraldry, was admitted in other cases 
similar to that in the text. See Feme’s Blazon of Gentrie, p. 238. 
Edition 1586. Nisbet’s Heraldry , vol. i, p. 113. Second Edition. 


Note G. — Hedge-Priests 

It is curious to observe, that in every state of society, some sort of 
ghostly consolation is provided for the members of the community, 
though assembled for purposes diametrically opposite to religion. A 
gang of beggars have their Patrico, and the banditti of the Apen- 
nines have among them persons acting as monks and priests, by 
whom they are confessed, and who perform mass before them. Un- 
questionably, such reverend persons, in such a society, must accom- 
modate their manners and their morals to the community in which 
they live; and if they can occasionally obtain a degree of reverence 
for their supposed spiritual gifts, are, on most occasions, loaded with 
unmerciful ridicule, as possessing a character inconsistent with all 
around them. 

Hence the fighting parson in the old play of Sir John Oldcastle, 
and the famous friar of Robin Hood’s band. Nor were such characters 
ideal. There exists a monition of the Bishop of Durham against 
irregular churchmen of this class, who associated themselves with 
Border robbers, and desecrated the holiest offices of the priestly func- 
tion by celebrating them for the benefit of thieves, robbers, and 


AUTHOR'S NOTES 


551 


murderers, amongst ruins and in caverns of the earth, without regard 
to canonical form, and with torn and dirty attire, and maimed rites, 
altogether improper for the occasion. 


Note IT. — Castle of Coningsburgh 

When I last saw this interesting ruin of ancient days, one of the 
very few remaining examples of Saxon fortification, I was strongly 
impressed with the desire of tracing out a sort of theory on the sub- 
ject, which, from some recent acquaintance with the architecture of 
the ancient Scandinavians, seemed to me peculiarly interesting. I 
was, however, obliged by circumstances to proceed on my journey, 
without leisure to take more than a transient view of Coningsburgh. 
Yet the idea dwells so strongly in my mind, that I feel considerably 
tempted to write a page or two in detailing at least the outline of my 
hypothesis, leaving better antiquaries to correct or refute conclusions 
which are perhaps too hastily drawn. 

Those who have visited the Zetland Islands are familiar with the 
description of castles called by the inhabitants Burghs ; and by the 
Highlanders — for they are also to be found both in the Western Isles 
and on the mainland — Duns. Pennant has engraved a view of the 
famous Dun-Dornadilla in Glenelg; and there are many others, all of 
them built after a peculiar mode of architecture, which argues a people 
in the most primitive state of society. The most perfect specimen is 
that upon the Island of Mousa, near to the mainland of' Zetland, 
which is probably in the same state as when inhabited. 

It is a single round tower, the wall curving in slightly, and then 
turning outward again in the form of a dice-box, so that the defenders 
on the top might the better protect the base. It is formed of rough 
stones, selected with care, and laid in courses or circles, with much 
compactness, but without cement of any kind. The tower has never, 
to appearance, had roofing of any sort; a fire was made in the centre 
of the space which it encloses, and originally the building was prob- 
ably little more than a Avail drawn as a sort of screen around the 
great council fire of the tribe. But, although the means or ingenuity 
of the builders did not extend so far as to provide a roof, they sup- 
plied the want by constructing apartments in the interior of the walls 
of the tower itself. The circumvallation formed a double enclosure, 
the inner side of which was, in fact, two feet or three feet distant 
from the other, and connected by a concentric range of long flat 
stones, thus forming a series of concentric rings or stories of various 
heights, rising to the top of the tower. Each of these stories or 
galleries has four windows, facing directly to the points of the com- 
pass, and rising of course regularly above each other. These four 
perpendicular ranges of windows admitted air, and, the fire being 
kindled, heat, or smoke at least, to each of the galleries. The access 
from gallery to gallery is equally primitive. A path, on the principle 
of an inclined plane, turns round and round the building like a screw, 
and gives access to the different stories, intersecting each of them in 
its turn, and thus gradually rising to the top of the wall of the tower. 
On the outside there are no windows; and I may add that an enclos- 
ure of a square, or sometimes a round form, gave the inhabitants of 


552 


APPENDIX 


the Burgh an opportunity to secure any sheep or cattle which they 
might possess. 

Such is the general architecture of that very early period when the 
Northmen swept the seas, and brought to their rude houses, such as 
I have described them, the plunder of polished nations. In Zetland 
there are several scores of these Burghs, occupying, in every case, 
capes, headlands, islets, and similar places of advantage singularly 
well chosen. I remember the remains of one upon an island in a 
small lake near Lerwick, which at high tide communicates with the 
sea, the access to which is very ingenious, by means of a causeway or 
dike, about three or four inches under the surface of the water. This 
causeway makes a sharp angle in its approach to the Burgh. The 
inhabitants, doubtless, were well acquainted with this, but strangers, 
who might approach in a hostile manner, and were ignorant of the 
curve of the causeway, would probably plunge into the lake, which is 
six or seven feet in depth at the least. This must have been the device 
of some Yauban or Cohorn of those early times. 

The style of these buildings evinces that the architect possessed 
neither the art of using lime or cement of any kind, nor the skill to 
throw an arch, construct a roof, or erect a stair; and yet, with all this 
ignorance, showed great ingenuity in selecting the situation of Burghs, 
and regulating the access to them, as well as neatness and regularity 
in the erection, since the buildings themselves show a style of advance 
in the arts scarcely consistent with the ignorance of so many of the 
principal branches of architectural knowledge. 

I have always thought that one of the most curious and valuable 
objects of antiquaries has been to trace the progress of society by the 
efforts made in early ages to improve the rudeness of their first expe- 
dients, until they either approach excellence, or, as is more frequently 
the case, are supplied by new and fundamental discoveries, which 
supersede both the earlier and ruder system, and the improvements 
which have been ingrafted upon it. For example, if we conceive the 
recent discovery of gas to be so much improved and adapted to 
domestic use as to supersede all other modes of producing domestic 
light, we can already suppose, some centuries afterwards, the heads 
of a whole Society of Antiquaries half turned by the discovery of a 
pair of patent snuffers, and by the learned theories which would be 
brought forward to account for the form and purpose of so singular 
an implement. 

Following some such principle, I am inclined to regard the singular 
Castle of Coningsburgh — I mean the Saxon part of it — as a step in 
advance from the rude architecture, if it deserves the name, which 
must have been common to the Saxons as to other Northmen. The 
builders had attained the art of using cement, and of roofing a build- 
ing, — great improvements on the original Burgh. But in the round 
keep, a shape only seen in the most ancient castles — the chambers 
excavated in the thickness of the walls and buttresses — the difficulty 
by which access is gained from one story to those above it, Conings- 
burgh still retains the simplicity of its origin, and shows by what slow 
degrees man proceeded from occupying such rude and inconvenient 
lodgings as were afforded by the galleries of the Castle of Mousa, to 
the more splendid accommodations of the Norman castles, with all 
their stern and Gothic graces. 


A UTHOR ’S NOTES 


553 


1 am ignorant if these remarks are new, or if they will be confirmed 
by closer examination; but 1 think that, on a hasty observation, 
Coningsburgh offers means of curious study to those who may wish to 
trace the history of architecture back to the times preceding the Nor- 
man Conquest. 

It would be highly desirable that a cork model should be taken of 
the Castle of Mousa, as it cannot be well understood by a plan. 

The Castle of Coningsburgh is thus described: — 

“ The castle is large, the outer walls standing on a pleasant ascent 
from the river, but much overtopt by a high hill, on which the town 
stands, situated at the head of a rich and magnificent vale, formed by 
an amphitheatre of woody hills, in which flows the gentle Don. Near 
the castle is a barrow, said to be Ilengist’s tomb. The entrance is 
flanked to the left by a round tower, with a sloping base, and there 
are several similar in the outer wall ; the entrance has piers of a gate, 
and on the east side the ditch and bank are double and very steep. 
On the top of the churchyard wall is a tombstone, on which are cut in 
high relief, two ravens, or such-like birds. On the south side of the 
churchyard lies an ancient stone, ridged like a coffin, on which is 
carved a man on horseback; and another man with a shield encoun- 
tering a vast winged serpent, and a man bearing a shield behind him. 
It was probably one of the rude crosses not uncommon in churchyards 
in this county. See it engraved on the plate of crosses for this 
volume, plate 14, fig. 1. The name of Coningsburgh, by which this 
castle goes in the old editions of the Britannia, would lead one to sup- 
pose it the residence of the Saxon kings. It afterwards belonged to 
King Harold. The Conqueror bestowed it on William de Warren, 
with all its privileges and jurisdiction, which are said to have extended 
over twenty-eight towns. At the corner of the area, which is of an 
irregular form, stands the great tower, or keep, placed on a small hill 
of its own dimensions, on which lie six vast projecting buttresses, 
ascending in a steep direction to prop and support the building, and 
continued upwards up the side as turrets^- The tower within forms a 
complete circle, twenty-one feet in diameter, the walls fourteen feet 
thick. The ascent into the tower is by an exceeding deep flight of 
steep steps, four feet and a half wide, on the south side leading to a 
low doorway, over which is a circular arch crossed by a great transom 
stone. Within this door is the staircase, which ascends straigh t through 
the thickness of the wall, not communicating with the room on the 
first floor, in whose centre is the opening to the dungeon. Neither of 
these lower rooms is lighted except from a hole in the floor of the 
third story; the room in which, as well as in that above it, is finished 
with compact smooth stonework, both having chimney-pieces, with an 
arch resting on triple clustered pillars. In the third story, or guard- 
chamber, is a small recess with a loop-hole, probably a bedchamber, 
and in that floor above a niche for a saint or a holy-water pot. Mr. 
King imagines this a Saxon castle of the first ages of the Heptarchy. 
Mr. Watson thus describes it. From the first floor to the second 
story, (third from the ground,) is a way by a stair in the wall five feet 
wide. The next staircase is approached by a ladder, and ends at the 
fourth story from the ground. Two yards from the door, at the head 
of this stair, is an opening nearly east, accessible by treading on the 
ledge of the wall, which diminishes eight inches each story; and this 


554 


APPENDIX 


last opening leads into a room or chapel ten feet by twelve, and fifteen 
or sixteen high, arched with freestone, and supported by small cir- 
cular columns of the same, the capitals and arches Saxon. It has an 
east window, and on each side in the wall, about four feet from the 
ground, a stone basin, with a hole and iron pipe to convey the water 
into or through the wall. This chapel is one of the buttresses, but no 
sign of it without, for even the window, though large within, is only 
a long narrow loop-hole, scarcely to be seen without. On the left 
side of this chapel is a small oratory, eight by six in the thickness of 
the wall, with a niche in the wall, and enlightened by a like loop- 
hole. The fourth stair from the ground, ten feet west from the 
chapel door, leads to the top of the tower through the thickness of the 
wall, which at top is but three yards. Each story is about fifteen feet 
high, so that the tower will be seventy-five feet from the ground. 
The inside forms a circle, whose diameter may be about twelve feet. 
The well at the bottom of the dungeon is piled with stones.” — 
Gougii’s Edition of Camden's Britannia. Second Edition, vol. iii, 
p. 267. 


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Goldsmiths The Vicar of Wakefield. Edited, with intro- 

duction and notes, by Mary A. Jordan, A.M., Professor of 
Rhetoric and Old English in Smith College. With Portrait of 
Goldsmith. 75 cen ts 

Coleridge’s The Rime of the Ancient Mariner. Edited, 
with introduction and notes, by Herbert Bates, A.B., formerly 
Instructor in English in the University of Nebraska. With 
Portrait of Coleridge. 45 cents 


LONGMANS' ENGLISH CLASSICS 


5 


Books Prescribed for i 8 gg— Continued. 

FOR READING. 

De Quincey’s Flight of a Tartar Tribe. (Revolt of the 
Tartars.)’ Edited, with introduction and notes, by Charles 
Sears Baldwin, Ph.D., Instructor in Rhetoric in Yale Univer- 
sity. With Portrait of De Ouincey. 50 cents 

Pope’s Homer’s Iliad. Books I., VI., XXII., and XXIV. 
Edited, with introduction and notes, by William H. Maxwell, 
A.M., Superintendent of Public Instruction, Brooklyn, N. Y., 
and Percival Chubb, Instructor in English, Manual Training 
High School, Brooklyn. With Portrait of Pope. 60 cents 

FOR STUDY. 

Shakespere’s Macbeth. Edited, with introduction and notes, 
by John Matthews Manly, Ph.D., Professor of the English 
Language in Brown University. With Portrait. 60 cents 

Milton’s Paradise Lost. Books I. and II. Edited, with 
introduction and notes, by Edward Everett Hale, Jr., Ph.D., 
Professor of Rhetoric and Logic in Union College. With 
Portrait of Milton. 50 cents 

Burke’s Speech on Conciliation with America. Edited, 
with introduction and notes, by Albert S. Cook, Ph.D., L.H.D., 
Professor of the English Language and Literature in Yale 
University. With Portrait of Burke. 50 cents 

Carlyle’s Essay on Burns. Edited, with introduction and 
notes, by Wilson Farrand, A.M., Associate Principal of the 
Newark Academy, Newark, N. J. With Portrait of Burns. 

50 cents 


Books Prescribed for the 1900 Examinations 

FOR READING. 

Scott’s Ivanhoe. Edited, with introduction and notes, by 
Bliss Perry, A.M., Professor of Oratory and ^Esthetic Criti- 
cism in the College of New Jersey. With Portrait of Sir 
Walter Scott 


6 


LONGMANS' ENGLISH CLASSICS 


Books Prescribed for igoo — Continued. 

FOR READING. 

{For Descriptions of the following volumes see Preceding Lists.) 
Dryden’s Palamon and Arcite. 

Pope’s Homer’s Iliad. Books I., VI., XXII., and XXIV. 
The Sir Roger de Coverley Papers. 

Goldsmith’s The Vicar of Wakefield. 

DeOuincey’s Flight of a Tartar Tribe. 

Tennyson’s The Princess. 

Cooper’s The Last of the Mohicans. 

FOR STUDY. 

Shakespere’s Macbeth. 

Milton’s Paradise Lost. Books I. and II. 

Burke’s Speech on Conciliation with America. 

Macaulay’s Essays on Milton and Addison. Edited, with 
introduction and notes, by James Greenleaf Croswell, A.B., 
Head-master of the Brearley School, New York. With 
Portrait. 


The following volumes of the series are also ready : 

Scott’s Woodstock. Edited, with introduction and notes, by 
Bliss Perry, A.M., Professor of Oratory and Aesthetic Criti- 
cism in Princeton University. With Portrait of Sir Walter 
Scott. $1.00 

Macaulay’s Essay on Milton. Edited, with introduction 
and notes, by James Greenleaf Croswell, A.B., Head-master 
of the Brearley School, New York, formerly Assistant Pro- 
fessor of Greek in Harvard University. With Portrait of 
Macaulay. 60 cents 

Shakespere’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Edited, with 
introduction and notes, by George Pierce Baker, A.B., Assist- 
ant Professor of English in Harvard University. With Frontis- 
piece, “Imitation of an Elizabethan Stage.” 60 cents 


LONGMANS' ENGLISH CLASSICS 


7 


Webster’s First Bunker Hill Oration, together with 
other Addresses relating to the Revolution. Edited, with 
introduction and notes, by Fred Newton Scott, Ph.D., Junior 
Professor of Rhetoric in the University of Michigan. With 
Portrait of Daniel Webster. 60 cents 

Milton’s L’Allegro, II Penseroso, Comus, and Lycidas. 
Edited, with introductions and notes, by William P. Trent, 
A.M., Professor of English in the University of the South. 
With Portrait of Milton. 75 cents 

Shakespere’s As You Like It. With an introduction by 
Barrett Wendell, A.B., Assistant Professor of English in Har- 
vard University, and notes by William Lyon Phelps, Ph.D., 
Assistant Professor of English Literature in Yale University. 
Portrait. 60 cents 

Defoe’s History of the Plague in London. Edited, with 
introduction and notes, by Professor G. R. Carpenter, of 
Columbia University. With Portrait of Defoe. 75 cents 

Irving’s Tales of a Traveller. With an introduction by 
Brander Matthews, Professor of Literature in Columbia Uni- 
versity, and explanatory notes by the general editor of the 
series. With Portrait of Irving. $1.00 

George Eliot’s Silas Marner. Edited, with introduction 
and notes, by Robert Herrick, A.B., Assistant Professor of 
Rhetoric in the University of Chicago. With Portrait of 
George Eliot. 75 cents 

Shakespere’s Merchant of Venice. Edited, with introduction 
and notes, by Francis B. Gummere, Ph.D., Professor of English 
in Haverford College ; Member of the Conference on English of 
the National Committee of Ten. With Portrait. 60 cents 

Scott’s Marmion. Edited, with introduction and notes, by 
Robert Morss Lovett, A.B., Assistant Professor of English in 
the University of Chicago. With Portrait of Sir Walter Scott. 

75 cents 

Macaulay’s Life of Samuel Johnson. Edited, with introduc- 
tion and notes, by the Rev. HuberGray Buehler, of the Hotchkiss 
School, Lakeville, Conn. With Portrait of Johnson. 50 cents 


8 


LONGMANS' ENGLISH CLASSICS 


COMMENTS ON THE SERIES 

“ These three books, then {referring to the three Shakspere Comedies 
of the Series ), as we reconsider them, are seen to have one admirable 
' element ; namely, ideas. A teacher, or any one else for that matter, 
who studies them, will get something new about the teaching of English. 
A good teacher will do better work with them, not only in these particu- 
lar plays, but along the whole line, through a certain ferment of the 
imagination, a vitalization of thought, which comes to pass in studying 
these volumes. Such, indeed, is the main service rendered by this 
series as a whole. An examination of the . . . volumes already pub- 
lished impresses one strongly with a feeling of life and vigor . . . The 
work of the general editor is one of the strong points of the series, 
nowhere showing to better advantage than in his selection of responsible 
editors for the separate volumes. They are a very representative set of 
men — representative, that is, of the younger set of teachers of English 
Literature. The series as a whole has great pedagogic value for the 
English student. The Suggestions to Teachers, as developed by the 
different editors, would make an admirable comment on the report of the 
Conference on English to the Committee of Ten. One volume or another 
may not fall in very well with one’s views, but when one considers them 
all, one cannot deny that they offer a very inspiring and suggestive display 
of scholarly work.” — From the Educational Review , for April, 1897. 

“ I want to express my hearty appreciation of the labors of those 
who have compiled this excellent series, and of the publishers who have 
made it possible for high-school pupils to enter upon the study of Litera- 
ture with so much enjoyment. Indeed, so helpful are the notes and 
suggestions that I have sometimes thought that a young person with 
this series in his possession could almost obtain a liberal education with- 
out the aid of a teacher.” 

— Edith L. Swain, Laconia High School, Lakeport, N. H. 

“ I am not in the habit of writing testimonials, but a regard for the 
highest interests of our young people preparing for college work, makes 
it my duty to commend in unqualified terms your most excellent series 
of English Classics. Nothing has been left undone. The editor, 
the annotator, the printer, the binder, has each in turn shown himself 
master of his work. The books need only to be known to be used, and 
they must soon find a way into every secondary school whose instructors 
in English are real teachers, intelligent and up to date.” 

—A. F. Nightingale, Supt. of High Schools, Chicago. 

“After comparison with others, I believe that your series is the 
most scholarly and at the same time the most teachable of any at present 
in the market.” — John MacDuffie, School for Girls, Springfield, Mass. 


LONGMANS' ENGLISH CLASSICS 


9 


“ The set which you are getting out is on the whole much superior 
to any with which I am familiar. I am delighted to think it is a 
possibility.”— George D. Knights, English Master, The Hamilton 

School, Philadelphia. 

“ Of all the numerous editions which have been recently published, 
I consider yours the best that I have seen.” 

—Elmer James Bailey, State Normal School, New Paltz, N. Y. 

“ The series is a credit to American scholarship.” 

— Martin W. Sampson, Professor of English, University of Indiana. 

‘ ‘ As a series the books have two strong points : there is a unity of 
method in editing that I have seen in no other series ; the books are freer 
from objections in regard to the amount and kind of editing than any 
other series I know.” 

— Byron Groce, Master in English, Boston Latin School. 

“ With their clear type, good paper, sober and attractive binding — 
good enough for any library shelves — with their introductions, sug- 
gestions to teachers, and notes, I do not see how much more could be 
desired.” — Prof, D. L. Maulsby, Tufts College. 

“ Admirably adapted to accomplish what you intend — to interest 
young persons in thoughtful reading of noble literature. The help 
given seems just what is needed ; its generosity is not of the sort to 
make the young student unable to help himself. I am greatly pleased 
with the plan and with its execution.” — Prof. C. B. Bradley, Univer- 
sity of California ; Member of English Conference of the National 

Committee of Ten. 

11 The series is admirably planned, the ‘ Suggestions to Teachers’ 
being a peculiarly valuable feature. 

— Prof. Katherine Lee Bates, Wellesley College. 

“ The introductions, the suggestions to teachers, the chronological 
tables, and the notes are most admirable in design and execution. The 
editor-in-chief and his associates have rendered a distinct service to 
secondary schools.” — Charles C. Ramsay, Principal of Durfee High 

School, Fall River, Mass. 

“It is the most attractive, most consistent, most practicable, and 
at the same time most scholarly series for college preparation, yet 
produced.” — Principal George II. Browne, Cambridge Mass. 


IO 


LONGMANS' ENGLISH CLASSICS 


Cooper’s ‘Last of the Mohicans.’ 

“We have adopted the ‘Last of the Mohicans’ in one of our 
classes and find it an admirable edition in every particular.” 

— T. E. Lyon, The Barnard School, N. Y. 

“ It is of the same high grade as the others of your ‘ English Classic 
Series ’ which we have introduced. We shall continue to use your books 
next year, in those classes preparing for the ’98 and ’99 examinations.” 

— David Allen Center, Woodbridge School, N, Y, City. 

Tennyson’s • Princess.’ 

“ I am delighted with the ‘ Introduction’ and ‘Suggestions.’ It is 
so comfortable to find an editor who does not ask us to spoil the delicate 
beauty of the poem by extreme analysis.” 

— Miss Eliza F. Hammond, Leicester Academy, Leicester, Mass. 

“ The work maintains the high standard already attained throughout 
the entire series of ‘ English Classics.’ These volumes have been used 
in Harvard School with excellent results, and I can assure the publishers 
that the English masters of the school heartily recommend the edition.” 

— Frank Poole Johnson, Harvard School, N. Y. 

‘ Macbeth.’ 

s 

“The editing of Macbeth is what one would expect from Prof. 
Manly, scholarly and literary. . . . Perhaps the most pleasing section 
of that portion of the book is concerned with ‘ sign-board criticism.’ I 
think you are to be thanked as well as congratulated for the excellence 
of the series to which these books belong.” 

— Prof. Elmer Wentworth, Vassar College, Poughkeepsie, N. Y. 

“ Any pupil must become interested in the great dramatist who has 
such a pleasing text as is presented in your publication.” 

— Miss M. F. Rice, Robinson Seminary, Exeter, N. H. 

“With accurate scholarship Dr. Manly seems to me to combine 
extraordinary good sense in his treatment of Shakspere. I will intro- 
duce the volume to my colleagues and friends, as it seems to me the best 
guide to ‘ Macbeth.’ ” 

— Prof. W. H. Carruth, University of Kansas, Lawrence, Kan. 

“ I think it is the best edition I have ever seen — certainly the best 
text-book. The ‘ Suggestions to Teachers’ are admirable, and the notes 
are so full and clear as to enable the student to understand the subject 
thoroughly; and hence they excite interest and encourage him to the study 
of classic literature.” 

— J. T. Murfee, Marion Military Inst., Marion, Ala. 


LONGMANS' ENGLISH CLASSICS 


Scott’s ‘Marmion.’ 

“ I decided upon your Scott’s ‘ Marmion ’ and Burke’s 1 Speech ’ for 
class use, as they are unquestionably the best editions of the series that 
I have seen.” — Ezra Lehman, Cumberland Valley Normal School, Ship- 

pensburg, Pa. 

“ The notes . . . sensible and pertinent, not leading the young 

student into labyrinths of learned analysis, comparisons and quotations, 
but proving, as notes should be, a real aid, and not, as is too often the 
case with annotations of to-day, a cause for further perplexity.” 

— J. A. Shaw, The Highland Military Academy, Worcester, Mass. 

•Burke’s Speech.’ 

“The editorial work is worthy of the masterpiece of one of the 
greatest orators of all time. The introduction prepares the way by a 
most lucid statement of the history necessary to comprehend the points 
covered in this great oration. The clearness, the accuracy and fulness- 
of the introductory investigations are followed by the oration itself, 
arranged in such a way as to make the mastery of its arguments easy, 
and their retention in the memory permanent. The notes, both explan- 
atory of the allusions in the speech, and illustrative of its wonderful 
oratorical richness, give a unique value to this edition, and must greatly 
enhance the editor’s reputation in a comparatively new field.” 

— Jacob Cooper, D.D., D.C.L., LL.L)., Professor in Rutgers College. 

“ We are now using your Burke’s ‘ Conciliation with America ’ with 
very great satisfaction.” 

— Byron Groce, Public Latin School, Boston, Mass. 
Carlyle’s ‘Burns.’ 

“ Permit me to express the pleasure I have found in reading your 
Farrand’s edition of Carlyle’s ‘Burns.’ It is a remarkable example of 
editing, exactly adapted to its purpose.” 

— Robert H. Nichols, Ph.D., The Hill School, Pottstown, Pa. 

“ Enough is given to make the study of Burns a delight to the right- 
minded pupil, and to open the door for the teacher into a new and 
broader appreciation of the two great Scotchmen.” 

— Albert Edward Bailey, A.B., Worcester Academy, Worcester, Mass. 

“It seems to me the edition of Carlyle’s ‘Burns,’ edited by Mr. 
Farrand, is the best for school use. I am particularly pleased with the 
specimen topics for written exercises and examination papers.” 

— Helen Marshall, Norwich Female Academy, Norwich, Conn. 

“ It pleases me decidedly better than any other edition that I have 
seen. The introduction is suggestive and the ‘ Notes ’ are what they 
profess to be — ‘ explanatory.’ ” — Caroline Carpenter, Lasell Seminary 

for Young Ladies, Auburndale, Mass. 


12 


LONGMANS' ENGLISH CLASSICS 


Irving’s « Tales of a Traveller.’ 

“ I feel bound to say that, if the series of English Classics is 
carried out after the plan of this initial volume, it will contribute much 
toward making the study of literature a pure delight.” 

— Prof. A. G. Newcomer, Leland Stanford Jr. University. 

“ I have looked through the first volume of your English Classics, 
Irving’s ‘ Tales of a Traveller,’ and do not see how literature could be 
made more attractive to the secondary schools.” — Prof. Edward A. 
Allen, University of Missouri ; Member of the English Conference of 
the National Committee of Ten. 

“ I have received your Irving’s ‘Tales of a Traveller’ and examined 
it with much pleasure. The helpful suggestions to teachers, the 
judicious notes, the careful editing, and the substantial binding make it 
the most desirable volume for class use on the subject, that has come to 
my notice.” — Edwin Cornell, Principal of Central Valley Union 
School, N. Y. 

George Eliot’s * Silas Marner.’ 

“This book is really attractive and inviting. The introduction, 
particularly the suggestions to pupils and teachers, is a piece of real 
helpfulness and wisdom.” 

— D. E. Bowman, Principal of High School, Waterville, Me. 

“The edition of ‘Silas Marner’ recently sent out by you leaves 
nothing undone. I find the book handsome, the notes sensible and 
clear. I’m glad to see a book so well adapted to High School needs, 
and I shall recommend it, without reserve, as a safe and clean book to 
put before our pupils.” 

— James W. McLane, Central High School, Cleveland, O. 
Scott’s ‘Woodstock.’ 

“ Scott’s ‘ Woodstock,’ edited by Professor Bliss Perry, deepens the 
impression made by the earlier numbers that this series, Longmans’ 
English Classics, is one of unusual excellence in the editing, and will 
prove a valuable auxiliary in the reform of English teaching now 
generally in progress. . . . We have, in addition to the unabridged 

text of the novel, a careful editorial introduction ; the author’s intro- 
duction, preface and notes ; a reprint of ‘ The Just Devil of Woodstock’; 
and such foot-notes as the student will need as he turns from page to 
page. Besides all this apparatus, many of the chapters have appended 
a few suggestive hints for character-study, collateral reading and dis- 
cussions of the art of fiction. All this matter is so skillfully distributed 
that it does not weigh upon the conscience, and is not likely to make the 


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